


And you thought Hell was hell!

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: Teh Winchesters [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Demon Blood, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Character(s), Sex Toys, Vampires, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After returning 'Back from Hell', Dean has regained his memories, but trouble in various forms always finds him and Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And you thought Hell was hell!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Clinton McKinzie for providing a line we couldn't resist stealing!
> 
> This is RPG-fic, so it doesn't read the same as 'regular' fiction.

* * *

The middle of the country stretched on forever, mile after mile after hundreds of miles of rolling prairie broken up by fields and pastures, a few small towns. From North Dakota to Kansas, Dean could have woken up on any back road and not been able to say, other than he'd been on most of them at some point, where he was. Spring, summer, autumn, a vastness of ubiquitousness. Winter's variance was depth of snow, and even that was unpredictable. 

So here he was, flying down the road right smack in the middle of it all. Azazel and his minions had brought him here, like this, time and again – ensconced in the Detroit steel that was Baby, Sam beside him. Only, he knew back in Hell those were empty lies, not real. This – here, now – this was real. Dean's reality began and ended with his car, his brother, and his half-chosen, half-destined profession. He'd lost them all, lost himself and his soul. How or why he was back, those answers were out there somewhere. Sure as the hand-shaped scar on his shoulder. 

Whatever had spit him or pulled him out of Hell pulled a trick – he'd arrived amnesiac and homophobic. The stress of the past few days and Sam's taking off, landing in the hospital, had burned through the fog. He remembered now. Not everything. But he got the gist, and most of the important pieces. 

Glancing to his right and into the back seat for the umpteenth time, Dean checked on his sleeping sibling. Sibling. Brother. Partner. _Lover._ One of the few things he'd managed to keep hidden from his own personal torturer, locked away across the deep abyss of his lost... well, everything. Sammy was his... His. More than the boy he'd raised from infancy when he was just a kid himself; more than the young man who'd left and returned, changed. He could leave out that they were hunters, had reformed their partnership only not quite three years before the Hellhound had ripped Dean apart and carried his life to the pit. At some point, they'd chosen each other. 

The details were still fuzzy. For once, Dean was actually eager to talk. When Sam healed up from his knock on the head and was alright again, Dean planned to make him recite, well, everything. 

Sam sprawled within the limits of Baby's back seat, long limbs bent and crooked every-which-way. His face, on the opposite side of the car from Dean and turned to the side to show mostly his profile, was relaxed, brow smooth and mouth slack. He'd aged, though, while Dean had been gone. Trying with no success to cut a deal for Dean's life or otherwise bring him back proved a cruel master. It only served to remind Dean how fragile and short human lives could be, and hunters' tended to be shorter than most. He wasn't going to waste any more time apart from Sam, or with fighting and disconnect. 

Driving on with the sunrise on his left, Dean stuck to two-lane back roads as he zigzagged south. Back in Pierre, he'd busted Sam out of the local hospital and it was possible every cop in the state was looking for them. Stupid doctor with a stick up his ass. They just needed to cross the border. Only twenty miles to go.

* * *

Everything hurt, was Sam's first thought when he slowly fought his way through the sludge obscuring his consciousness. The second was that Dean was safe because why would he be riding in the back seat of the Impala otherwise? Something wasn't right, but thinking was one of the things that hurt, so he told himself he'd figure it out later. Besides, wasn't there always something wrong?

An attempt to sit up led to more pain, so Sam immediately aborted it with a grunt. Since when did the Impala wobble so much? Or maybe that was only in his head – the throbbing in his temples suggested he had a concussion, which would explain not only the wobbling but also his confusion.

"Dean," he croaked, "please tell me that you killed whatever did this to me..."

* * *

Well, Sam was conscious, or something close to it. He sounded groggy and hoarse. Dean glanced over the seat again and took in slitted eyes and spots of color high up on Sam's otherwise pale-looking face. "'Morning, sunshine. I'd ask if you slept well, but I know better. No, I only locked it in the bathroom. What do you remember?" 

Now that Sam was awake, Dean would assess exactly how bad his concussion, or whatever might be still affecting him, was. He had a headache, a bad one; it didn't take a genius to figure that out and Dean knew his brother. He was a little worried about the way Baby was swaying at the moment. Busted shock? He didn't dare stop yet. There was a little town a few miles across into Nebraska, temporary refuge if they could just get there. 'Was that too much to ask for?' he demanded of the powers that be.

* * *

"In the b-bathroom?" Sam frowned, trying to make sense of what Dean was telling him. "What was it?"

His frown deepened, and with it the pain, as he struggled to remember. "I... there was... Walmart. Ruby. And..." Suddenly, Sam sat up so quickly that his head almost hit the roof. "You!" he wheezed, stunned by the flare of his headache and the returning memory.

"I remember... you. You're back. And..." Images flashed before Sam's eyes and he got dizzy. Holding his face in his hands, he groaned. "You're back, and Bobby brought you here. Pamela, her eyes. Castiel. Ruby and I... interrogated a demon. Nobody knows anything. And... then..."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut to fight the onset of tears. Dean didn't remember their love, and Sam had run, which had ended with him being hit by a car. Dean had sprung him from hospital, and...

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that you locked that stick-up-his-ass doctor in the bathroom? And I thought you'd slain a monster to save me!"

Regardless of his aching head, Sam broke into helpless laughter. 

* * *

As he struggled to express himself through word association, Sam's voice carried that strained note Dean remembered only too well from around the time Sam turned fifteen. Though hazy about his logic as a 19-year-old, he understood at some basic level it meant the two of them, torn apart. He'd done it once because he'd thought he had to, too scared to take the consequences of coming out in so many ways, and once by dying. 

Dean began to chuckle halfway through Sam's scattered recollections. Meanwhile, his brother burst into semi-hysterical guffaws. "Yeah, I know. Human, so not a real monster to hunters' standards, but that guy was some piece of work." 

The two of them laughed companionably for a little while. This was them, skipping town in another near miss. Dean hoped he didn't sound too whacked out, himself. He kept his eyes front, in case Sam needed a moment. What he really wanted was to pull over, or better yet, find a motel, and _show_ Sam how glad he was to be back, and how much he was loved. Too bad they were almost flat broke. The serious cluster-fuck they'd landed in the previous night meant there'd been no time to hustle. Sam had a new credit card waiting somewhere, he'd said, but now it looked like they were on a one-way train south.

At last Dean addressed some of the other things Sam had included. Part of his so-called mystique from years past, which annoyed the shit out of Sam, was to ignore half the questions put to him. "You know I'd hunt anything for you, kill anything for you. Yeah, I'm back. Good as new, well mostly. Right now I don't even care about angels and demons – they can fuck off. No one knows shit. Let's just get... somewhere, give you a couple days rest." 

About then he hit a pothole in the road. There went the alignment. Dammit, if he bent Baby's rims, he'd kick his own ass. Dean growled and looked down at the gas gauge. Less than a quarter tank. They'd coast into the next town on fumes, if they were lucky. His gut tightened. No way did he want to be hiking it out here; his out-of-commission brother was in no shape for it. Sam was sitting up now, face in his hands. "Hey, maybe you should lay down again." 

* * *

Dean sounded as if he'd never left. That was different from... before. Sam frowned. Maybe his brother remembered now? Just before Sam had run, Dean had been disgusted with himself for having had sex with Sam. Then Sam had been in hospital, first confused because of the concussion and later because of the pain medication. They hadn't talked since then except for deciding that they'd better leave town before anyone located them in the motel.

Sam remembered that they were out of money and nearly out of gas, that Dean had tried to call Bobby but reached only voicemail. He didn't know how far from Pierre they'd made it or whether Dean had procured some money while Sam had slept, passed out in the back seat, but he knew he wasn't in any state to fight and trusted that his brother would take care of everything that needed to be taken care of.

From Dean's suggestion, that included taking care of Sam. After the Impala's sudden jolt, Sam considered this a very good idea. There was, however, one thing he needed to know before he could conk out again.

"Dean," he asked, annoyed that his voice sounded so weak. "Are we, um, good?"

* * *

"We're running from the law and the doctors, your brains were scrambled eggs last night, we're broke, and Baby's almost empty. That's pretty far from okay," Dean replied. Then he realized Sam didn't mean logistics. "You and me...?" He wasn't fond of this, but it needed to be said. "If it was up to me, I'd pull over right now and bone you good, just to show you how much I... Uh..." 

Oh, shit, this really was uncharted territory. Or was it? They'd discussed their feelings like a couple of big girls (or men), back when they finally officially-unofficially got together again, as in together-together. Hadn't they? Bits and pieces flew at Dean. He blushed bright pink over the some of things he'd told Sam in the heat of passion or afterglow, or even more embarrassing, out of distress. Again and again, his brother had proved that he could still be his, well, brother, not just fuck-buddy. Dean's throat had shut off his words in typical self-defensive mode; he coughed. This was taking too long. Sam would get all weird, if he didn't _say it_. It really wasn't nice to play mind games with someone with a head injury.

"...how much I love you, Sammy. And want you. Alright? Are we good with that?" Damn, he needed a drink. 

* * *

It took Dean a while to catch on, but he eventually answered Sam's question. Being Dean, his mental squirming was so obvious that it would have made Sam laugh if he hadn't known that this would make his brother even more uncomfortable. Sam found it endearing, but he was aware that Dean did this only for him.

"Thank you," he said. "Yeah, we're good, and I love you, too, and as soon as my head stops pounding I'll want you, too – to give me quite another type of pounding. And don't worry, I have a concussion, so I'll forget that we ever had this conversation." He wouldn't, there was no way Sam would ever forget Dean telling him he loved him, but he figured the lie would make his brother feel less embarrassed.

"So," Sam changed topic. "We're running from the law and the doctors, my brains _are_ scrambled eggs, we're broke, and Baby's almost empty. Why's that far from okay? I'd say it's a pretty average day in our lives." He grinned.

* * *

"You're probably right," Dean agreed, if darkly. "Another day in the life. Right. Only, a few days ago, I wasn't even alive and that kinda creeps me out. At least I didn't forget how to siphon gas, eh, Sammy? Might need that skill soon." If his brother had been sitting beside him in the front, he might have cuffed him on the shoulder or shown some other form of physical affection. 

But then, a metal-on-metal wrench that he could feel more than hear and a thud on the right front end of the car made Dean's stomach dive to subterranean levels. The steering wheel pulled sharply to the right, and he had his hands full, getting the Impala over to the shoulder safely. When they came to a complete stop, suddenly mushy brakes and all, Dean found himself sweating and panting in the driver's seat. "Dammit!" He hit the steeling wheel with both hands. "We are so totally fucked!" 

Pulling out his phone, he tried Bobby's number again. Voice mail, as he'd half expected. "Where the hell are you, Bobby?" he muttered in frustration. 

Great. All that and Baby decides to crap out on them, too. Dean was tempted to blame Sam – he'd been her de facto owner for the last four months. Hadn't he been taking care of her properly? Setting his jaw, Dean kept that to himself and said instead, "Stay in the car, Sam. Rest while you can. I'll go have a look underneath." 

* * *

"Uh-oh," Sam succeeded in swallowing back a pained groan. No reason to have Dean worry more than necessary, and what had just happened with the Impala was bad enough.

"Slow leak on a busted tire? Don't look at me like that," Sam said when Dean gawped at him. "I learned as much about cars and Baby in particular as I could after..." He licked his lower lip, and continued in a softer voice, "She was all I had left of you. Dean... I'll do as you say and stay in, but please, I want to help if I can, okay?" 

* * *

_She was all I had left of you._ Sam saying that, so soft and heartfelt, as if the loss overwhelmed everything else, wrenched Dean's heart harder than any trick of failing mechanics. He had been such a bastard about trying to find a way out of his deal, keeping a will to live stronger than he knew inside till just weeks before his debt came due. Sam had researched and poked around after demons and spells while Dean had thwarted him at every turn. And then, when Dean died, he kept on. How had Dean repaid him? Derision. He could blame his Swiss-cheese brain, but that wasn't good enough. 

"I'll keep that in mind. For now, you just sit tight." 

It would be a couple more months till winter hit in this area. In the early morning air, though, Dean's hands and ears chilled quickly, and his breath fogged on every exhale. He rolled under the front right wheel well. Yeah, the tire was flat, and one of the struts had snapped. He couldn't fix that out by the side of the road. They'd need a tow. And how he was he supposed to pay for that? And parts? Not with his body. For one thing, he was too old for that, and for another... now where the hell had that even come from? The one other thing, besides Sam, he had managed to keep from his captors in Hell, had managed to keep locked away from himself, he wished had stayed encapsulated. 

Dean returned to his seat the car to give Sam the news. "Yeah, we're not going anywhere. I can change the tire but the strut's busted, shock's gone, too. I think we'd better try to hitch a ride. We'll have to figure out the money situation from there." Sam was not up to it, he knew, but what choice did they have? "Unless you wanna stay with the car...?" 

* * *

Sam grimaced. "As much as I'd like to stay in the car, I'm coming with. I'm not losing you again." He winced when he opened the door and let his feet dangle. "Make that, I'm coming with after a handful of pain-killers. Thank goodness I kept not only Baby's tool box well stocked but the first aid kit as well."

Standing on his feet, Sam felt wobbly for a moment, but he raised his hand when Dean approached, ready to catch him. "Nah, 's okay, I'll manage." Dean kept frowning as if he didn't trust Sam, but Sam made it to the trunk without stumbling. Yes, his head was killing him, but the pills would help.

While he fumbled for the med kit, something was niggling Sam's mind. "Dean," he said slowly, "Remember the box Dad stashed under all the gear about ten years ago? The one he ordered us to never open unless we were in a _real_ emergency?" 

God alone might know what John had considered a 'real' emergency. Maybe there was a handful of condoms for Dean and chocolate for Sam, but there was also a chance that whatever the box contained might be useful.

"Maybe he put some money in it. What do you think, shall we open it?"

* * *

Sam seemed to be walking at least semi-okay once he was on his feet. "Good job, Sammy," Dean said awkwardly when his brother mentioned having 'medication'. He must have totally spaced it out the night before, or had been subconsciously following doctor's orders about not taking knock-out drugs on a head injury. He walked around the back and popped the trunk, watching and shifting foot to foot while Sam found the first aid kit with ease and dry-swallowed a couple of pills. It was the first time Dean had a good look at their version of supply room. Sure enough, Sam had added dividers and tie-downs, and neatly organized everything. He decided to give Sam hell about his anal retentive tendencies later, this was not the time or place. Even thinking the word 'anal' made him stuff his hands in his jeans pockets till he could will down the influx of blood and desire from his groin. 

_Other matters, think of other things, Dean._ Like, what box in the trunk? Dean had only the vaguest elusive tingle of recognition when Sam mentioned it. Himself not touching it? That, he believed, the ever-obedient soldier. His brother, not so much. Then, an overwhelming curiosity filled him. It would probably be a bust, just some spare holy water or ammo, but what if it was cash, and they could forget this fool's errand and make the necessary calls to get the hell out of here and into someplace warm and comfortable _now?_ Maybe it was just memorabilia, something in very short supply in their family. 

"In ten years, you never looked? That's not like you, Sam. Yeah, we should... We should do it now, see what's in it. Might be useful." Dean bent over so his torso was fully in the open trunk and began to move Sam's neat rows of gear aside. "Where is it, in the wheel well or something?"

* * *

"He put it under the tool box," Sam explained, "probably because he knew that was the last place I'd check. Which it was, until, well, a year ago. Back then, you'd have tanned my hide if I touched your tools, and afterwards..." He swallowed. "I couldn't bring myself to open it. It wouldn't have helped me get you back, and it felt as if I'd, dunno, disturb your legacy – yeah, I know this doesn't make sense but it felt wrong, so I left it under the tool box."

Sam shifted the tools aside and lifted a dented metal box from the trunk. Cocking his head, he looked at it, unsure how to proceed.

"D'you wanna...?"

* * *

"Oh, c'mon, Sam. You know I'd never have spanked you, unless you wanted me to," Dean said distractedly, staring at the dusty box of plain gray metal he'd seen yet not seen a thousand times. Was it warded, to keep one's eyes from settling on it?

Sam offered it to him, to open. Shrugging, he tried to slide the catch to the right, then the left. Locked. "Did Dad ever mention a key? Or a spell?" Dean asked. Typical. Nothing was ever simple, when their dad was involved, even now. 

* * *

"OK, I should have phrased that better. I wasn't afraid you'd spank me," Sam said quietly. "I didn't open it because I didn't want to lose your respect." He watched Dean and frowned when the box didn't open. "He never said anything about a key, so I'd say let's bust the lock."

Looking at Dean for confirmation, Sam took the box from his brother's hands. He hadn't taken his weapons when he'd fled from Dean, so at least those weren't lost to him. Despite being doped up to the gills, Sam had remembered stashing his knife in his boot and his Taurus in the jacket when they'd left the motel. He now pulled the knife out and slid the tip into the lock, which gave immediately.

Not waiting for approval, he lifted the lid of the box and withdrew two passports. "These expired last year, but they were issued for a Dean Anderson and Sam Ulvaeus." 

Sam's face lit up when he saw what was underneath. "And ancient credit cards – maybe we could sell them to a museum," he snorted, "and cash. A lot by the look of it." His voice softened. "Thanks, Dad."

* * *

Dean rolled his eyes at the names, far from their Dad's – or his – repertoire. But he too was grateful. "Here, I'll take half and you take half. You think they'd reissue those cards to Bumfuck Egypt, Nebraska?" He looked at the passports for a second, fixating on Sam's 14-year-old face. "Aw... Look at that baby-face. You didn't even have any peach fuzz yet." He could remember that face, now that he'd allowed it of himself. But for now, he couldn't indulge himself in drawn-out recollections. They had urgent business first. 

"Well, I was thinking we'd hitchhike. But maybe we should stay with the car and try hitching a ride from here. Put the hood up and try to flag someone down." 

* * *

"Um, I'm not sure we'd be successful with hitchhiking. One look at my face and any sane person will run – if anybody stops in the first place, that is," Sam pointed out. "But for flagging someone down, my bruises could work in our favor. A good Samaritan prepared to help out with car trouble may not run from an injured person."

He grinned. "Besides, we could take turns sitting inside and not both freeze our balls off."

* * *

Dean snorted again. "I'd still love you junkless, but I'd prefer you with the full accessory package, shall we say?" He laughed at his own joke. "I'll take the first turn at trying to get a lift. You get back inside where it's warm... or warm _er._ If we're lucky, it won't take long. Just as long as it's not a cop that stops." 

He was a little worried about that, so close to the state line. Or, maybe that concept came from too much bad TV and he should be more worried about what or who might be waiting in the next town. If they'd slipped under the radar, that would be optimal, but he wasn't counting on it. Stuffing half of his share of the cash into his wallet and the rest into various pockets, Dean went on, "Normally I'd leave the car running, but you know she's low. Sorry." 

* * *

"Thanks," Sam smiled. "If I didn't love you already, I'd love you now. Don't worry about me getting cold, I'll have a blanket, whereas you..." He shuddered in sympathy. "But let me know when it gets too cold. I'll take your place – after warming you up, that is." Sam grinned.

* * *

"Okay, okay," Dean tried to wrap it up. "Rather than freezing our balls off, we're going to have to question their existence at this rate." He nodded once, quickly, then walked around to the driver's side of the car, opened the door, and reached in to pull the lever to pop the hood.

* * *

At first, Sam couldn't believe their luck when he heard a car pulling up next to them. Then, he cursed their luck when their 'savior' turned out to be a police cruiser. Dean must have recognized it earlier, but he kept his cool – Sam groaned inwardly at the bad pun; even under the blanket it was freezing in the Impala, and the short time he'd spent outside her had taught him there was a nasty wind blowing.

"License and registration, please," he heard a voice from outside and groaned again. They obviously had car trouble and the county cop asked for their papers first? Sam could only hope that Dean's usual hothead wouldn't surface. One of his brother's famous temper flares could easily get them into way more trouble than they were in already.

* * *

Dean had had the hood propped up only a few minutes before he began to pace up and down the shoulder of the road to keep warm. Before long, a car appeared on the horizon behind them. At first, he felt a cautious sense of relief, but the closer it came, he suspected and then confirmed it was a police cruiser, a Crown Vic painted black and white with red-and-blue flashers on top. Just their luck. 

The cop's uniform was as much a hick cliche as the car: brown polyester pants, tan shirt, bolo tie, cowboy hat, thick leather utility belt complete with what looked like a .38 Special. And a night stick. And handcuffs. The guy on the other hand... Skinny, blond, about Dean's height, he looked like a California surfer dude only he was pale as milk. Geez. Was this really local law enforcement or some weird stripper-gram daydream? 

Trying to appear 'normal', Dean kept his hands out of his pockets and called out, "Thanks for stopping. Little help? Got a busted shock and strut under there, and a flat." He gestured at Baby's front end. 

Totally ignoring him, the cop gave the standard, "License and registration," in a voice like three-day old convenience store coffee mixed with used motor oil. Dean huffed, but went to fetch it. God knew what all was in the glove box that he didn't really want seen. Fishing out the papers, Dean walked back around the Impala and handed them over. The cop was just standing there motionless, staring. Or, Dean assumed he was staring, since he couldn't see his eyes behind the reflective lenses of the standard-issue aviator shades. A badge was pinned to his shirt. Kind of a pigeon-chested little freak, too, Dean noticed. He half-expected a gold star to complete the redneck ensemble, but it was a shield-shaped, and read 'Ofc. B.J. Johnson.' 

Dean smirked. All the usual fuzz-hassling lines like, "Is there an officer, Problem?" or pronouncing the title like "Ossifer" slipped his mind as he fixated on the engraved letters: _B.J., B.J., B.J...."_ Meanwhile, _Officer Johnson_ was certainly taking his time. "You gonna call it in?" he asked, annoyed. 

"Should I?" the cop rasped. "I could call my partner over to search the vehicle." Naturally, he pronounced it 'VEE-hick-l". For the first time, Dean paid attention to the fact there was another cop still in the cruiser. "Oh, your partner...? No need for that." 

"Officer Cummings can be very thorough." 

"I'm sure." Not even a sanctified saint wouldn't have snorted at that. 

* * *

When Dean opened the passenger door to get the papers the cop had asked for, Sam couldn't suppress a grin at his brother's spectacular eye roll. He followed the 'conversation' and gathered that the officer – or both of them, as there seemed to be another guy in the car, probably hiding from the cold, just like Sam – was mainly bored. Sam didn't blame him. Although he was an early bird himself, patrol duty on lonely countryside roads at the crack of dawn wasn't his idea of fun, either. But why didn't these two sit in their warm car over coffee and donuts? That's what cops did, right? And what about the ridiculous sunglasses? The sun had barely risen. 

Maybe he was dreaming, Sam wondered. After all, he was suffering from a concussion. Then again, given how their lives usually went, this was probably real. And likely to get worse. He briefly debated with himself whether to step out of the car and try to keep a lid on his brother's temper, but decided against it. Banged up as he looked, he didn't want to give the officer a reason to get – more – suspicious. Aware that they weren't yet far away from... what was the place called, Pierre? Bumfuck whatever, where a patient had eloped from the ER after his visitor had locked the head quack up in the can...

Sam grinned at the memory while he pulled the blanket up again and waited for the bad joke outside to further unfold.

* * *

Blondie snapped, "What's that supposed to mean, son?" 

"Son? What are you, like, 22?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. No one but his dead father or Bobby got to call him that. "You must have been a remarkable child... B.J. Hey, what's that short for? Blow Job?" After too many run-ins with everything from county sheriffs to Feds, Dean should have known better, but he was in a bad mood between lack of sleep, the cold, worry for Sam, and Baby on the fritz. He voiced a little more pissiness. "You giving or getting? Bet you're the one on your knees, huh?" 

He wasn't afraid of the guy. He had his .45 tucked into the small of his back, and knives in his jacket and boots. Maybe Hell had made Dean a lightweight, something he intended to remedy, but he knew just from moving around the last few days that his speed and strength were fine. But when he caught a flash of what he was sure was a fang, when the cop – or not – bared his teeth, his stomach dove toward the ground. Why couldn't John have left a syringe of dead man's blood in that box? Vamps were weaker in daylight but hardly helpless, and there were two, he assumed. "No offense man, just kidding. Bet you get that a lot, huh?" he backpedaled. "My brother and I'll just wait for a ride into the next town."

"That's Bradley James, and I think you'd look damned good on _your_ knees," the vamp returned, he scowled, then gave an oily smile. "Or better, fine specimen like you's gotta be pretty tasty. And enough for two." 

* * *

Okay, something was definitely going on outside. Although he missed most of the conversation, Sam still thought he should stay hidden. He had no doubt that Dean could deal with any situation.

Then, however, a second cop emerged, and not even a second later, there was a thump against the side of the car. Dean was yelling, followed by silence, and then Sam watched his brother's slack face slowly slide down the Impala's side window. What the hell?

Sam jumped from the car with his Taurus in his hand. He managed to shoot one of the cops, but when the man just looked down at the blood welling from his chest wound – which Sam knew should have been fatal – it became clear that these two guys were anything but cops. And he had the wrong weapon. His reflexes slowed down by the concussion, Sam bent down to draw the silver knife from his boot, but one of the men caught him before he could reach it. Sam's eyes widened when he noticed the fangs. Then, pain exploded in his head and darkness pulled him under.

* * *

When Sam opened his eyes, the light stabbed him like a lance and he groaned. A second attempt didn't feel better, but after a while, he managed to ignore the searing burn that went straight to his brain, and he began taking inventory of his surroundings. He was lying on a dirty concrete floor with Dean next to him, out cold. Both of them were handcuffed to a thick pipe that ran along one of the walls about six inches off the ground. Sam gave it a good tug, but it didn't budge. 

As his vision improved, he noticed the steel door and the lack of windows, which meant that they were probably trapped in a cellar. It was cold, and Sam nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw that neither he nor Dean was fully dressed: they'd been stripped of their jeans and boots, and thus of their weapons. That was bad. So they had been in hopeless situations before, and gotten out of them, but that didn't mean he was happy right now. Before Sam could come up with a plan or anything, however, Dean started groaning next to him.

"Dean?" Sam held his breath. "Are you okay, man?"

* * *

Dean awoke as if through a tunnel, and it was anything but light and warmth. He came to with the realization that he was cold, restrained, and half-dressed. Maybe he could slip or pick the metal handcuffs, but the thought and the dim lighting when he cracked an eyelid pierced his brain – his head hurt like a motherfucker. He recalled the vampire – cop? BJ? what?? – at the side of the road. No wonder he was so pale; Dean should've suspected. Instead he'd let his temper get the better of him. Now that he thought about it, there'd been two of them. The second had appeared right before he'd been flung through the air, now he was here and... Where were they, and where was Sam? 

An effort to speak ended in only a groan. But then he heard his brother's voice in the semi-darkness and for a split second, their dire situation didn't matter, only that Sammy was there. But Sam as well as himself would be vamp food if they didn't do something quickly. "You alright, Sam? Those damned vamps! Have you been bitten?" 

Dean didn't feel or smell anything like wet or dried blood on himself, but he couldn't say how long he'd been out. He'd seen some, usually loners, that killed with savage precision. Those in covens tended to bring their victims back to the nest so they could play with their food. If the cellar they'd been dumped in were any indication, the pair – a couple? – weren't exactly rolling in dough, which meant they were probably in hiding... But then what was with the fake-police act? 

"I'm sorry, Sam. I fucked up big time." Ignoring the stabbing behind his eyes, Dean struggled to sit up, hampered by the handcuffs. He slid and shuffled an inch at a time across the dirty, cold cement floor, closer to his brother, needing the warmth of his body. 

* * *

"Don't blame yourself," Sam said when Dean spoke up. "You didn't fuck up. How were you to know that these two were vamps posing as cops? And let's be honest, we're not exactly at our best these days. I got my brains scrambled and you just returned from Hell. Plus the cold was slowing down our thinking, I guess," Sam pointed out with sarcasm in his voice.

Dean tried to shuffle closer to Sam, and as soon as Sam recognized what his brother intended, he did his best to lessen the distance between them, too. "That's better," he smiled when their shoulders touched.

"So, let's see if we can come up with a plan. Unless you carry a machete in your underpants, I'm afraid we're unarmed. Do you have anything we could use to undo the handcuffs? Maybe there's a nail somewhere, but my vision is still a little wonky so you'd have to take a closer look around."

* * *

"Ha, you know I keep a sword in my pants at all times. Just can't kill Nosferatu with it, last time I checked. Any-hoo... A nail, a screw, a paper clip... just what I was thinking." Leaning against Sam, Dean squinted into the dim room. He couldn't see anything nearby. "Maybe you were right about baby steps. I was sure I could take him – the blond one – on." Okay, dwelling on it wouldn't help. 

As he scanned back and forth, Dean's eye caught a couple of small metal pieces on the floor, along the wall on adjacent to him, about three yards away. "Look over there. Framing nails. Maybe I can reach them with my feet." He toed his socks off, and painstakingly inched his body down on the cold floor. Little by little, he stretched out, checking for the proximity of his toes to the screws so he wouldn't push them farther away. One of the odd things John had made him practice was dexterity with his feet. Dean sure as hell couldn't type a letter or play piano with his toes but he was able, stretched out full-length with his hands overhead, shivering, to pick up a nail. Careful not to drop it, he curled his legs up and wiggled closer to Sam again. 

"You'll have to do it, I'm not bendy enough to drop this nail into my own hand." The floor was rough, and scraped his bare legs and his ass through his boxers. Their kidnappers had made his handcuffs extra tight – he was going to have bruises. Just the day before, Dean had put bruises on Sam when he fucked him, a rough and nasty transaction that Fate was paying him back for. 

Eventually, he got himself twisted around, dropped and picked up the nail again twice and was sweating despite the chill before he got it into Sam's vicinity. "Ready?" Dean panted. 

* * *

_"You know I keep a sword in my pants..."_

Sam shook with laughter and his eyes watered. That was Dean: put him in a dire situation and he'd still come out top form. "No, you're right," he wheezed, "even if you could, I wouldn't want you to stick it into anyone other than me."

He watched as Dean apparently found a potential weapon or key. Slowly, his vision was clearing and he recognized Dean picking up a nail with his toes. It made Sam swallow. He'd always admired his brother's feet – just like everything else on Dean's body, they were perfect. Dean curling his toes to hold the nail made Sam wonder what they'd feel like on his dick. It was not the right kind of thought for their situation. He was having a hard time thinking straight anyway – all his brain seemed to be able to come up with was bad puns – and the blood pooling in his groin now wasn't exactly a welcome distraction. Sam hunched his shoulders, expecting Dean's chiding as soon as he noticed the tent in Sam's boxer briefs.

When Dean told him that Sam had to _do it_ because Dean wasn't _bendy_ enough, Sam wondered if Dean said these things on purpose, but he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. One thing he knew for sure was that the minute they were free – provided that they made it out – they'd devour each other, and not vamp-style.

For now, he succeeded in picking up the nail from Dean's toes. The handcuffs were tight, way tighter than they should be, but Sam managed to grasp the nail and slot it into the lock. It took a few minutes, but then the cuff sprang open. After that, he freed Dean's right hand, and soon they groaned when they were finally able to sit up.

"Let me see," Sam said as he reached for Dean's wrists where the cuffs had made deep impressions. There were bruises, and his own wrists didn't look any better. He smiled as he pulled Dean's hands to his mouth and kissed the abused skin.

"Okay," he said a minute later when he'd checked the door. "No lock on the inside and the walls look solid. On the other hand, I can't see any camera or other monitoring equipment, so with any luck they won't know that we're free before they open the door. D'you think we can take them?"

* * *

"I'm gonna stick it into you as soon as we get ourselves out of this mess and a couple states away," Dean returned the innuendo despite Sam laughing at him. Finally, after a few false starts and plenty of bad words, Sam managed to spring the lock on his cuffs, then Dean's.

It wasn't lost on him Sam was hard – his boxer briefs accentuated it more than hid it. "Your sword seems to be growing longer by the minute." It wouldn't be the first time one or both of them had popped wood at an inopportune time. Dean tried to ignore the familiar hot rush south in favor of escape. He groaned as Sam gently kissed his bruised wrists. They exchanged a burning stare, but practicalities took over. Sam tread across the room, noiseless on his stockinged feet. Dean pulled his socks back on, and checked the windows. Locked, and too small to fit through. 

"See anything?" he hissed. "It's still daylight, they're probably asleep." Unlike those in pop culture references, real undead, though nocturnal, weren't burned by sunlight, they just were weaker and ill at ease, less telepathic. "Wish I had a machete or some dead man's blood," Dean grumbled. "Or some razor wire." Outside their door was a dim hallway, with more doors to the right and left. 'More prisoners?' he wondered. He couldn't hear anything. Signaling Sam to check one of the other doors, Dean crept into the hallway and turned the knob on nearest, to his left. Locked. He tried the next. Locked. 

The door at the end of the hall, right next to the rickety stairs leading up, yielded better results. "Sam," Dean whispered, "supply room." Weird that the other doors were locked but the vault – more or less – wasn't. But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? He quickly spotted his Colt .45 and Sam's Taurus among the racks of firearms on the walls. "This is good, but we still need pants. And money." Their not-so-little problems had abated, but they were by no means out of the other woods. "And we're gonna off these bad boys." 

* * *

Sam could see his own desire mirrored in his brother's eyes. Without words, they agreed that they'd ignore it for now. The reward would come later; of this Sam was sure.

He felt strangely handicapped when they explored the hall. It wasn't so much that he wasn't carrying weapons – Sam was versed in unarmed combat and knew that Dean was even better than he was – but that they were traipsing through the hallway on socks with bare legs. It was weird that this should bother him so much, but he felt practically naked. 

Then Dean opened a door to what must be the vamps' armory, which immediately raised their spirits, in particular when they found their own handguns. Still, in order to gank their captors, they'd need more than that.

"Can you see anything we could use to lop their heads off?" Sam whispered back. "Unless it's my scrambled brain I think these guys are vamps, right? Do you think there are other captives here? Maybe we should knock on some of the doors before we try to burst out."

* * *

"Mostly handguns and automatics, a couple of rifles and shotguns. I don't see anything that works on vampires yet – I saw fangs before he threw me. Keep looking." 

Dean considered what might be behind doors number 2, 3, 4, etc. Maybe they concealed other prisoners who could help them fight free, but that was doubtful, and he'd learned early not to rely on dumb luck. More likely, there'd be other humans who'd been locked up longer, weak from starvation and blood loss. Fangers taking their daily sleep might be putting the rooms to use, but in Dean's experience, they either kept their victims in a completely separate part of the den or close enough to take a nip at will. "We need to check for survivors." A glance in Sam's direction told Dean his brother tacitly agreed – they would save anyone who required their help. 

A few pocket knives lay on a shallow shelf and Dean grabbed the biggest. He had to stick it in his jacket pocket instead of a jeans pocket or into a boot, which reminded him, where had these fuckers put their clothes?! Sneaking around in their underwear and socks on their bottom halves, he and Sam were like bad parodies of themselves. At least his brother had nice long, lean, straight legs. While Sam looked disconcerted enough at his state to giggle over, as well as hot, Dean was getting pissed off at being semi-exposed. He'd better cool it. His temper had landed them here in the first place.

"Find anything, Sam?" Their captors had cleaned out his pockets, which meant his lock-picking tools were gone, too. Hearing and sensing movement out in the hall or from another room, Dean flicked the safety off on his gun. 

* * *

Dean found some pocket knives, and Sam picked one up. "Let's try the other doors now," he announced. There was an off chance that more vamps were sleeping in the same basement where they held their captives, but that was a risk they'd have to take. 

"Cover me," he instructed Dean who promptly stood behind Sam, holding a rifle. Being shot wouldn't kill a vampire but it might buy them some time before the creature recovered its wits. 

When he unlocked the first door, Sam's eyes went wide. The men inside were almost certainly not vampires. Otherwise they wouldn't be handcuffed to various pipes and hooks in the walls. The men had something in common, though: from what Sam could see in the dim light, they were all naked and... gorgeous.

"What is it?" Dean demanded to know when Sam froze at his discovery.

"Looks like they grabbed, what are these guys called, the Chippendales or the California Dream Men," Sam commented dryly as he stepped aside to let his brother see.

* * *

Was Sam hallucinating from his earlier head trauma, Dean wondered. Chippendales? Peering around his little brother's doorway-filling torso, into another dimly-lit, unfinished room, he had to agree that the men inside were all extremely handsome, all under 30, and in top physical shape. He and Sam had been lucky to keep their shirts, jackets, and underwear. The poor bastards – Dean counted six pairs of glassy eyes staring back at them – were all stark naked. Chained to the wall or pipes, they looked worse for the wear. Some shivered, some had traces of blood on them.

"Huh. They look like male models," he whispered to Sam. "Very, uh, well groomed. But none of them holds a candle to you, which is probably why we're here. Only the best for these vamps, and they prefer blonds, I guess, but not for long at this rate. Not many comforts in this place." Not even a blanket for the lot of them, and they had probably not been fed in a long time. No way was he going to succumb without a fight, or let the bloodsuckers have Sam. 

With a word to Sam to watch the door, Dean strode into center of the room. Keeping his voice low, he hunkered down and looked from face to face. "Listen up. I'm Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We got picked up roadside by these supposed cops, and we woke up here, in another room, chained up like you. This is gonna sound crazy but they're not really cops, they're vampires." 

The prisoners just stared. A couple of them looked befuddled, as if they were drugged. Dean could tell no one really believed him, but he went on, taking the nail Sam had used to pick their handcuffs and doing the same for the nearest captive, the sole dark-haired one. It was difficult to ignore all the nude bodies, though besides Sam and a one-off a long time ago, Dean had never actively desired a man. "We'll get you out of here, but we might need back-up. Anyone with me? Can anyone handle a gun? Who knows anything about how they run this place? How long you've been here?" 

Moving on to the next man, a green-eyed blond whose hair kept falling in his eyes, Dean set to work on his especially tight cuffs. This one had more bruises than the others, and Dean suspected he was a fighter. "They... the blokes who took us, they stay upstairs mostly," he offered, speech strongly accented, Dean not quite sure if it were British or Australian or both. "So they're really vampires? I thought it was just bad drugs." 

"Unfortunately, yes," Dean confirmed.

"And you know this how?"

"Really long story, but let's just say we have training in this sort of thing. Sam and I have hun-, uh, we've dealt with these things before. The only way to kill 'em is beheading. We found guns, but that'll only slow them down. Seen any swords or machetes around here? How about clothes?" As the first blond guy rubbed his wrists and shook his head, Dean moved on to the next man, who was just a kid, really, who whispered a thank you and curled his arms around himself. He was sweating despite obviously being chilled through, and Dean suspected a fever. There were bite marks on all of their necks. 

"Sam, we have to get the master of this coven, and soon." Shooting a look up at his brother, Dean hoped to convey the urgency of not just their situation. "Let's go." He couldn't blame the naked prisoners for wanting to stay out of danger. 

* * *

Sam watched the hall while Dean uncuffed the prisoners. They were not disturbed, and neither did their captors show when Sam unlocked a second, then a third room, each of which held another half dozen of naked men. All of the prisoners were in a state of shock, some of them barely able to speak, but even the blond guy who'd apparently tried to fight back didn't look capable of joining them against the vamps.

The fourth room was empty, but it had been locked, too, which made Sam's skin crawl. "Dean," he whispered, "I think they've set a trap for us – you and me, I mean. Why else wasn't our door locked like the others? And why were we the only ones left with some clothes? I know I'm preaching to the choir, but, please, Dean, be careful. I can't lose you again."

* * *

"You won't," Dean promised, sparing his brother a glance. Other than motioning with a raised forefinger to his lips that they should stay quiet, Dean didn't interact further. His hackles rose, and his skin prickled. Someone's unfriendly eyes were beading on them. "Something's not right here. If they're aware of what we're up to, why aren't they stopping us?" he wondered aloud. 

"There's nothing more for us down here," he continued. Slowly, he turned in almost a full circle eyes searching for hidden doors, windows, anything. It was futile. And claustrophobic. The place stank of dust and mildew, fear and blood, and Dean wanted out. "We're gonna have to go upstairs."

No sooner had he said that than a vampire, who he vaguely realized as the one who'd stood by while – Officer B.J., Dean couldn't help thinking – tossed him like a rag doll, loomed up behind Sam. Dean wouldn't have seen him except for preternaturally fast movement and the reddish glow to his eyes. Fangs bared, the vamp grabbed Sam from behind and wrenched his head back, about to sink his teeth into the tender skin of Sam's neck. 

What could he do but defend what was his? Every ounce of adrenaline his body was capable of producing rampaged into his bloodstream at the sight of that monster about to rip into Sam's vulnerable throat. The pulse jumped like a scared hare. No doubt Sam was in fear of his life – Dean sure as hell was. So trusting, his baby brother looked at him...

Dean wrapped his hand tight around the handle of the silver pigsticker in his jacket pocket and plunged it into the vamp's open mouth. "Die, motherfucker!" he growled. Blood spewed everywhere. 

* * *

"Wha-" Sam was about to ask what was going on when Dean's eyes suddenly widened. Before he could finish a single word, his head was grabbed and wrenched back so violently that he was seeing stars for a moment before locking his eyes on Dean's. If this was his final minute on Earth, he wanted to see his beloved brother as long as he could. 

To his surprise, Dean pulled his knife from his pocket and lunged. For a split second, Sam thought that Dean had lost his mind – or maybe he was under Hell's orders – and was about to kill him, then Dean pushed him aside and sank the knife in the dark-haired vamp's mouth, showering them both with a fountain of blood.

Sam gagged, and so did Dean, but there was also a victorious grin on his brother's face: the wound wouldn't kill the thing but it gave them enough time to saw off the head even if they only had Dean's small silver knife to do it. The monster fell backward with the knife still lodged in its palate – and then Sam found himself in the same situation Dean had been in a second ago, when the second vamp wrapped his arm around Dean's neck from behind and opened his mouth, baring fangs.

Unlike Dean, however, Sam didn't have a knife or any other useful weapon; even if he attempted to shoot the guy, Dean's body would be in the way. There was no time to free the silver knife from the other vamp's throat, so Sam did the only thing he could think off, aware that he'd be too late, but maybe not _too late:_ He quickly took his shirt off for a desperate attempt to strangle the monster.

Dean let out a blood-curdling scream when the razor-sharp teeth pierced his skin, then the scream was cut off when the vamp tightened his grip and leaned in to bite deeper. Sam reached the vamp just in time to snake the shirt around its neck. He yelled at Dean to hold on, then cinched it tight with so much force that he heard the creature's neck snap.

It would take the thing only a little time to recover, but all Sam could think of was his brother. Dean's eyes were shocky as Sam lowered him to the ground and caressed his cheek.

"Dean? I need you to focus. We have to get you – and these other guys – out of here _now_ , before one of them comes round again. I'll take care of your neck later, but for now we gotta move!"

* * *

The second he thought maybe they had a chance, Dean felt something grab onto him so tight he couldn't even wiggle his upper body and for a second, when teeth sharper than any knives punctured his skin, he was sure this was the end. Like for real, the end. Less than a week back and then dead. Already blood-spattered from the first vamp-splosion, more rained down the front of his shirt as the creature bit into him deeper. He lost Sam from his line of sight. If he was really going to snuff it, Dean wanted the last thing he saw to be his brother. Sam had been there when the Hellhound got him, but Dean had been too busy screaming and all he saw was the ceiling beams of those folks' fancy house. Dean shut his mouth and kicked but it was in vain. 

There were struggles behind him, then the distinct sound of someone's neck being snapped. Sammy. Dean was so damned proud of him, of his quick reaction and strength. The arms pinning him loosened, the vampire fell to the floor, and Dean was on the ground, too, vaguely aware that Sam had caught and manhandled him. He was losing blood fast, and he fought to stay conscious but everything was fuzzy. Then Sam was on the ground beside him, pleading with him to get up. "Bind the wound," Dean grunted, "and hope that son of a bitch didn't get anything important." 

* * *

The blood was gushing from Dean's neck wound and his face turned paler almost by the second. Crap! Sam felt panic spread in his belly, the absolutely last thing he needed. They had to get out and he didn't even have a first aid kit – then again, even if he had one it wouldn't help much: he couldn't tie off the neck wound without strangling his brother.

His mind was swirling. He had to get Dean out, and also the other men, but he couldn't command them to just go until he knew there were no more vamps upstairs. Which he couldn't find out because he had to keep his brother from bleeding to death, and to achieve that he had to... 

"Give me your shirt." 

The voice was weak but held authority. Sam pulled his shirt off and a hand took it, bunched it into a ball, and pressed it on Dean's wound. Dean's grunt told Sam how much it hurt, but the man who'd taken his shirt spoke again, "He'll live, but we have to get him to a hospital."

Yeah, about that, Sam thought, but he nodded. They'd have to renegotiate hospital, but it looked as if the man knew what he was doing and had Dean's neck under control. The rest of the captives huddled together and watched, resignation written over their faces, except for the blond bruised man Dean had freed first. He had apparently recovered his wits and looked ready to defend his life to his last drop of blood – literally – as his eyes met Sam's.

"I can help carry him," he offered, "or whatever else it is you need me to do. Seems like you two are the only ones who have a clue as to what's going on here."

Dean's eyes were closed now. It didn't make Sam feel better, but it was still easier than seeing how glassy they were. "Dean," he swallowed. "Me and...?"

"Tom," the other man provided. "I'm one of the deputies these guys jumped and stole our uniforms and car from."

Sam nodded, then turned his attention to Dean again. "Listen, I'll have to leave you here for a sec while Tom and I check out the upstairs. I swear that I'll be back in no time and I need you to swear to me that you're not going to die."

* * *

He tried to stop them, he really did, but Dean's eyelids drifted down, too heavy to keep open. He could still hear what was going on around them, soft shuffles of the men, an occasional cough. So far, the vampires hadn't reanimated but he didn't think it would take long. Someone pressed a cloth against his freely bleeding neck wound and held it there. It hurt like a bitch. Dean wanted to push them away, but he also didn't want to bleed out. He and Sam, they hadn't even had the chance to be together, not properly. And now Sam was leaving. No, just to try to get them all to safety. 

"Not dying... not here and not 'cuz of these fanged dicks," Dean wheezed. "Tell all these boys to... Get armed. I'll go with you." Making a huge effort to open his eyes and sit up, Dean lifted his torso only a few inches before he saw spots and had to lie down flat again. 

"You come back to me, Sam." For a moment, he grabbed onto Sam's arm. Dean knew he couldn't live without Sam, it hit him so hard it was like his insides were on fire. Could've been that fanger's spit in his system, too. Then he forced himself to uncurl his fingers, to let his brother go so he could finish this unplanned-for hunt. Without the contact, he was alone. 'Hold on,' Dean told himself. 'Hold on for Sammy."

* * *

Leaving Dean behind was one of the hardest things Sam had ever done, but there was no alternative. On their way to the stairs, Tom explained that this was the cellar of the small police station. The whole 'force' consisted of two deputies. Tom didn't know what had happened to his colleague; he hadn't been among the prisoners in the basement. Tom told Sam that there was the station itself, an archive, a holding cell for a maximum of two persons, and an on-call room that was never used. The weapons were kept in the basement where Sam and Dean had found them.

Sam thanked the man who had recovered a lot since being uncuffed. Tom volunteered to go first, but Sam shook his head. _He_ was the hunter, and it had been too deeply ingrained into him that it was his job to protect people, although he really admired the man's regained confidence – even buck naked Tom didn't hesitate to venture forth. When he tried to make his point, though, Tom countered that it was _his_ job to protect the public, and besides, he knew the premises. Sam couldn't argue with that, and in the end, he let Tom go first, grudgingly.

He needn't have worried. A quick check revealed nobody on the first floor, and there wasn't a second floor. Judging from Tom's face when they looked into the on-call room, the giant heart-shaped bed covered by red velvet hadn't been there before, but there were no further vamps. Maybe the two downstairs had collected potential new nest members, but Sam didn't have time to muse.

"We need to get the men to the nearest hospital," he said. "And I need a machete or another large blade."

Tom stared at him. "You can't kill the... whatever they are. They must stand trial..."

Sam's jaw dropped, but he couldn't afford to discuss the subject. "Yeah, of course. I only meant to use it to subdue them. Someone has to hold the fort while we get the vics to safety. Come on." Maybe he could get Tom to leave so that he and Dean could take care of the vamps.

"I'll lock them up in the cell," Tom said. "Problem solved."

 _Not likely,_ Sam thought, but he nodded. "Right. Let's see about downstairs then."

When they returned to the cellar, Tom immediately told the men to get out, promising that they were safe. They didn't believe him at first, but then they got up from their various places along the walls and began shuffling to the exit with Tom assisting some of the weaker men.

Sam approached the guy who was still pressing his shirt to Dean's neck. "Let me take over. You're needed elsewhere," he told the man whom he assumed was a doctor or medic. The man said, "The bleeding hasn't stopped yet, but it's under control. Make sure he gets to the ER a.s.a.p." Sam thanked him and the man left.

For the moment, he and Dean were alone with the vamps. There were noises from upstairs, and he knew they wouldn't have long. How could he dispose of the vamps and get Dean out before the deputy returned?

"Dean," he whispered. "Do you think you can get up and walk?"

* * *

The next interval was the longest of his life, other than Hell, and Dean didn't count that as life. It wasn't like he couldn't survive on his own, or was that... dependent upon his brother, that he couldn't stand being more than five feet from him. He lay on the cold floor, thinking of what might be going on upstairs. Every so often, a floorboard would creak, and a small explosion of adrenalized relief kicked into his bloodstream. It probably wasn't the best chemical to be adding – he needed to slow down, slow his blood down. On his neck, the bite's bleeding slowed, thanks to the continued pressure from the naked dude kneeling nearby. The guy had impressive junk; Dean supposed it was a job requirement if he really was a professional dancer-slash-stripper. Maybe Sam had missed his calling. His junk inspired...

No, he couldn't go there now. It was just that, other than the three-plus years Sam was at Stanford or when things were dire enough to require a hospital – which was saying a lot, they'd always stitched and bandaged each other's wounds. Sick as it might be, he actually looked forward to his brother's care. 

Dean closed his eyes. Preserving his strength, that's what he was doing, he told himself. After what seemed like hours, Sam returned. One of the other men helped convince the rest it was safe to leave. After some hesitation, they began to file out, he heard the sound of their bare feet going by, then away, probably upstairs. Kneeling next to him, Sam took over the pressure to his wound; Dean immediately knew and warmed to his hands. 

A short exchange, something about an ambulance, later, they were alone. Dean cottoned on right away that they were leaving before any EMS or other officials could show up. Pissed that he was weak as a kitten, Dean promised himself that he'd do whatever it took to get them away. When Sam asked if he could walk, he opened his eyes, and put on his best bravado. "'Course I can!" Easier said than done. Sitting up alone cost him, and his head spun. "Help me up, would yah?" 

Sam stood up effortlessly and pulled Dean to his feet. For a second, he thought he might keel over, but he balanced against the wall and got it together. "Alright, which way?" 

Like it or not, Dean had to lean heavily on Sam. 'Just till we get upstairs,' he told himself. Sam more or less carried him anyway. Once out of the basement, Dean was surprised to discover they were in a police station of sort, if one overlooked a ridiculous huge heart-shaped red velvet-covered bed in one of the rooms. So the vamps had been collecting a harem, as well as a food source, he assumed. Unless they'd been a couple. That was possible. He shuddered at the thought, or more accurately, the thought of that bed. 

While he'd been busy spacing out, Sam got them all the way through the building and out the front door. Baby was parked in the impound lot. Dean pieced it together: the fake cops had thrown them into one car or the other or one in each. One vamp had driven the cruiser and one had gotten Baby here. He gritted his teeth, thinking about one of the unholy creatures putting his hands on her. "Our spare clothes and gear might still be in there," he panted. "We're leaving, right? Tell me that's the plan." 

* * *

Although Dean claimed he'd be able to make it out, Sam was amazed that – with his help – his brother really made it to the impound lot behind the station. By the time Sam dropped him in the Impala's passenger seat, Dean was panting heavily. When he suggested that their stuff was probably still somewhere inside the building and that they should leave as soon as he could retrieve everything, Sam forced a smile on his face.

"Yeah, I'll go take care of things. You sit here, put pressure on that wound, and don't move otherwise. Regardless of what happens, you stay in the car," Sam emphasized and Dean nodded.

It didn't make Sam very comfortable, but he'd have to live with it. He was getting more worried about the blood loss, though. If he wasn't seriously injured, Dean would never forget that his baby had a bad limp. They'd have to improvise. First of all, Sam quickly dressed in his spare clothes. Then there were the fangs and their stuff to take care of, and finally the Impala. As he made his way back to the station, Sam noticed a tow truck in the impound lot. He nodded to himself. That would make things easier. Maybe their luck had, for once, turned.

He wondered if the two vamps had seen the contents of Baby's trunk and chosen to lock them up separately, but why had they been left with at least partially clothed? And if the guys had recognized them as hunters, why hadn't they at least been put behind a locked door? Maybe he and Dean were waiting to be drained, a nice meal and good riddance to the hunters. Or maybe they were supposed to be turned first. Questions and more questions that he wouldn't find answers to. It didn't matter. They had more urgent problems right now.

Entering the station, he wasn't spoken to when he returned to the basement. There was so much chaos upstairs that he doubted anybody even noticed him being there. Sam had brought along a machete from the Impala and it took him only a few seconds to take care of the fangs. Now he could only hope they'd be on their way before anyone found the beheaded corpses.

Their stuff was still on one of the desks. They were lucky that the vamps hadn't disposed of it, and he grabbed the lot as fast as he could. When he returned to the car, he found Dean still slumped in the passenger seat, not looking very conscious.

"Hold on," Sam told him. He couldn't resist pecking his brother's cheek. "Not long and we'll be out of here, just trust me."

Dean let out a soft whimper and Sam cringed, but they really had to leave. "Okay, Dean," Sam said. "Baby is out of commission right now, so we have to tow her out. You wanna stay here with her or help me with the truck?"

* * *

They made it across the lot, where Sam loaded Dean into the Impala's front seat and kissed him temporarily good-bye, telling him to stay put no matter what. 'How sweet,' Dean thought sardonically, though he knew Sam deserved better. Old habits died hard, and he just wasn't comfortable doing that when someone might see. He supposed he'd listen, rather than lose more blood and keel over in the street, and pressed the makeshift dressing against his neck with one hand, finding and holding onto his Colt .45 with the other. The sun was out. Although not that bright, it stabbed Dean's eyes and he winced and shut them again. Before, Sam had been the injured party, and now he was having to run interference and take care of Dean. 

After another interminable wait, Dean heard the distinct beeping of a service vehicle being backed up. Then, jiggling and bumping, and... WTF, Baby's front end being raised. Oh, that wasn't good. Right, the front wheel assembly was messed up, that's how they got stranded. It was kind of humiliating, but Baby, like all rear-wheel-drive cars, had to be towed ass up. Otherwise... Luckily Sam came to check on him before Dean had to jump out. "Sammy, you gotta disconnect the drive shaft or you'll strip the gears, the tranny." 

Such a thing might be beyond Sam's recently-acquired knowledge of cars. Gathering himself, Dean croaked, "I can do it. There's another way, too: run the engine while she's hoisted up. I remember we're almost out of gas. Might be enough to get to a Gas'n'Sip, though." He'd better hope so, or ruin the transmission. "Would you get my tools?"

* * *

Shoot, Sam had taken care of the Impala as best as he could, and he'd asked mechanics for help and explanations whenever necessary. He had never had her towed, though, and wasn't aware that putting her on the tow truck wasn't as straight-forward as he'd imagined. Still...

"You're not doing anything except being a good boy and putting pressure on that wound," Sam stated in as cool a voice as he could muster. "If you can, kinda, drive her up the ramp, okay, but you're so not getting under her hood before we get your neck fixed."

There was a small piece of good news, though, and he smiled. "At least the truck carries a few canisters of fuel, and the thing's tank is full, too. The driver's wallet was in the compartment – maybe he was one of the guys the fangs caught. So we have some money for now, a credit card, and with the truck we can get Baby over the state line to a car shop. I'm pretty confident that it'll take a while for folks here to check the impound lot, but we should still get out of here. So, you ready to drive her up?"

* * *

"Ready, sure," Dean agreed. "I can do that much. Not like I haven't spent a big chunk of my life bent over Baby's engine block or under her belly, but I like your plan – you've been a busy boy." In truth, he flat-out admired Sam's resourcefulness. "Need some jeans and shoes first... Then later, if I need it, you can stitch me up. It'll be like old times, Sammy." 

Just getting out of the car and standing took all his resolve. Then he had to awkwardly get himself – one-handedly – into his missing pieces of clothing. Sam would've helped, but Dean waved him off. His brother's hands that close to his butt and crotch would have deterred any rational thinking, or with Dean's recent blood loss maybe nothing would've happened, which would have been more alarming. Either way, he avoided that issue and held out his hand for Baby's keys. 

Sam had rigged a sort of dolly behind the tow truck, the sort of thing that kept all four wheels off the ground. Before, he'd been too out of it to notice that someone had patched and refilled the flat tire. Those vamp-cops had been efficient, if nothing else. Once up the short ramp, which was already wedged under her front tires, the Impala could be chained to the iron frame. They'd just have to be really careful, towing her, and not make any crazy turns. 

It took a couple tries and a false start or two, to get up the ramp. There was the damage to the front to consider, plus Dean didn't want to go too heavy on the accelerator and overshoot. In the end, he slithered to the ground, and insisted on helping fasten her down. Neither of them mentioned Sam how put chains around three wheels to his one. 

"I'll ride in the cab with you," Dean answered the earlier question. "You okay to drive, though? I mean, you've been bashed in the melon – twice." He leaned against the side of the tow truck, squinting up at Sam. "Guess we can take turns if we need to."

* * *

"I'll drive," Sam confirmed once they had the Impala fastened on the truck. "I'll collapse when we're far away from here in a cozy little town with a garage and a motel – and then you can listen to me whining about my head," he grinned, "while I'll listen to you whining about your neck. Deal?"

He turned the key in the truck's ignition and the motor sputtered to life. "Right. As soon as we're over the border, I'll stitch you up. Can you hold on until then?" A quick glance at Dean showed him that Dean would stubborn it out, and Sam made a mental note to not let his brother faint out of pure mulishness.

Clearing his throat, he grinned. "It's 106 miles to the border, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes – really? – it's dark... and we're _so not_ wearing sunglasses... Think we're still gonna make it?"

* * *

"Whining and more whining, huh? Deal. When we find whatever motel, I'll make you whimper and moan, too." Dean crawled up into the passenger side of the wrecker's cab. It stank of stale sweat, chain smoking and, naturally, blood. "Those aren't my smokes. And no, no douchebag Corey Hart sunglasses at night. Eighties style, man!" 

Sam put the truck in gear and let out the clutch. It sputtered, shook, but then rolled out of the lot. Reflex move, Dean whipped around in his seat to make sure Baby was alright and not wobbling on her perch. The gears ground as Sam shifted into second. "Wassa matter, Sam? Don't know how to drive a stick?"

* * *

Sam snorted at that. "Hey, I haven't had much opportunity lately to practice _stick_ – not without you around." He smiled sweetly. "You should be happy that I'm working this one before tending to yours later."

* * *

"Deny, Deny. Bet you've been working your own. _Not much_ opportunity isn't the same as none," Dean quipped. God, it was perfect, this. If they could just hole up somewhere long enough to recover from their various misadventures. 

He settled into the corner, leaning against the door, for a couple hours' ride. No way was he letting Sam go over the speed limit. "That was sketchier than hell back there. Why d'you think they didn't just drain us by the side of the road? If we were meant for the harem, we should've been naked behind a locked door." He shrugged, but stopped when the wound pulled against the moving of the ligaments. "That bitch got me good." 

* * *

_"So_ not the same thing, dude," Sam shot back. He opened his mouth to tease that Dean wouldn't know the difference because someone else was always doing it for him, but bit it back. Dean sure as hell – literally – hadn't had anybody's hand, including his own, on him in forty years. He swallowed hard. If anyone had touched his brother, it would have been for torture of a kind Sam didn't even want to think about.

"I'll show you," he said softly. Now that the truck was on the road and he didn't have to switch gears, he put his right hand on Dean's thigh and caressed it. Tempted to move his hand upwards to Dean's groin, he refrained. "Can't do anything now, though," he winked. "Don't want you to pass out on me when there's no blood at all left in your brain."

Sam turned serious again. "Not sure what happened with those two, but if I had to guess, I'd think they may have wanted us for their harem. You are kinda," he ducked his head, expecting Dean's punch, "cute. Then, Baby is, of course, not to be snotted at, not even by douchebags' standards." He shuddered. "Maybe they opened the trunk after they'd towed her and found out that we're hunters. Could be they were considering how to dispose of us when we came around faster than they expected. Or turn us. I don't think we'll ever find out. What's your theory?"

Seeing Dean wince, Sam squeezed his thigh. "The pain killers you found for me at the hospital are the real thing. I'll go get you one as soon as we're a few miles out. Sorry, should have thought of it earlier, but we were in a bit of a hurry."

He gave Dean his best wolfish grin. "Oh, and by the way, that bitch, I got him even better. You've been avenged, man."

* * *

The hand on his leg was warm and right. Dean waited for it to creep higher, but it didn't, which was just as well. Despite his mental eagerness, Dean doubted he could get it up with his own blood still not clotted. "My theory... Even if they didn't look in the trunk, we both had weapons on us, and not scared to use them, so they had to have figured out we're hunters, or at least not civs. I think we were for their menagerie. I'm dirt-blond if you squint right and you're, well, you. Shut up about the pretty, though. If you knew how many times I heard that, and, 'you got a yourself pretty mouth, boy' this and 'male model' that, and shit about my... my freckles and my, um legs and," Dean looked up from his ten-second reverie, and saw the injured hurt on Sam's face. "Shit, I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. I'm glad you think I'm a handsome devil, 'cuz you're hot as hell for a giant in my eyes, and I love you, and that's all that matters." 

Before Sam could pull his hand away, Dean laid his own on top. "Now, I wonder even more why the angel hasn't contacted us. We still don't know how or why I got out of Hell. Ruby didn't know anything, huh?" 

* * *

The blood loss hadn't slowed Dean's brain, if anything, he seemed even sharper than before. "Um, Dean, one thing at a time," Sam suggested. "Let's take care of your... our injuries first. Rest and recover, and _then_ make a plan." He gave Dean's thigh another squeeze.

"If whatever pulled you out is an angel, I don't think it'll proceed by our standards. Ruby had no idea at all," Sam swallowed. He was yearning to tell Dean all about Ruby and their... 'encounter', but it was so messed up, and he didn't know how his brother would react. Although Dean had recovered his memories of the two of them together, Sam still wasn't sure how far he could trust the virtual stranger at his side. "What I mean is, the angel probably has its own agenda, so we might as well wait until it contacts us, if ever. Until then, I suggest we take care of ourselves first."

Sam wanted to say much more, but he wasn't sure how Dean would take it. Apparently, the praise of Dean's beauty hadn't gone down well – or at the very least it was ambiguous. Sam knew that their Dad had sold Dean's body and that Dean considered being handsome a curse. Hell couldn't have missed that and Sam had no clue how much his beloved brother had been tortured with this fact. All he knew was that he wanted to make Dean feel good and heal the deep wounds Dad and Hell had inflicted. Still, there was so much he could do wrong here.

"Dean," Sam finally said, "I love your mouth. And your freckles. And your legs. And everything else. Because it's you. Because I love you. And that's all that counts."

* * *

"Figures that hell-bitch would make a big production of needing to see you, for nothing." Dean had hated skinny blond Ruby and he liked the current version even less. Something about dark brown eyes. Too close to demon-black. They just looked devious to him. And he could practically smell the girl boner the thing had for Sam. But that wasn't Sam's fault. If Dean hadn't intimately known every inch of his brother's skin, he'd never have suspected the perfection under the layers of loose clothing. Then he chided himself. After all, he'd just grumped at Sam for remarking on features everyone could see. Dean seriously doubted Sam would want his objectification. All of that could change rapidly. Already, Sam had nearly lost his arm. Dean wouldn't have loved him less without it – maybe more, but his guilt would have crushed him. In months, people could get seriously under- or overweight from disorders or forced situations. Before Hell, Dean had had scars all over him, and likely would again; Sam still did. If anything, they were signs of commitment. 

"If it were possible, I'd rather make contact on our own time, on our own terms. Something tells me it's not going to happen like that. I don't like being at their mercy. Anyway. Mind if I catch forty winks while you drive?" Sitting in the truck wouldn't have lulled him to sleep if he weren't so out of it to begin with. Dean's eyelids felt like they each had a heavy weight attached. "You're not gonna conk out at the wheel or anything?" he yawned.

* * *

Sam squirmed when he could see how Dean's mind lingered on Ruby. He knew that his brother was suspicious and that it was only a matter of time before Dean caught on. Sam was torn between trusting Dean with his secret and keeping it from him because Dean had always been uncomfortable with Sam's psychic powers. If Sam told Dean about the latest development with the demon, Dean would insist he stop immediately, but Sam agreed with Ruby that it was their only chance to fight Lilith.

While he lost himself in his own musings, Dean yawned and asked if Sam could stay awake while Dean napped. When he'd checked last, the bleeding of Dean's wound had stilled to a minor trickle. Sam was confident that it wouldn't open again unless Dean struggled. He was sure that it was the blood loss that made his brother so tired. He, on the other hand, felt hyped up on adrenaline to the point that he wouldn't be able to sleep. The painkillers he'd swallowed before the encounter with the fangs were still working – or maybe that was the adrenaline, too – and Sam knew he'd last for another while, at least until they'd passed the state border.

"Yeah, you go ahead and take your nap," Sam said. "I'll wake you when we're at some place that looks safe, and I promise not to conk out."

* * *

Fading out to the sound of Sam's voice, which had deepened and grown rough around the edges in the four years since they started hunting together again after Jess's death, minus the last four months, Dean sank into the folds of sleep. He must have passed into his second REM cycle. The dreams descended into darkest Hell, where every day had been another death, hundreds then thousands. Alistair hadn't turned him full-on demon, not like his pre-Hell dream root ravings, but it had been a close thing. After being helpless, tortured, till his mind was gone as much as his guts or limbs, falling to the floor with sickening thuds, once he'd given in to the temptation, he gloried in it. And now, now, there was no place for him here but as a once-living, now walking zombified husk of a man. 

Sam tapped him awake. Dean jerked into awareness, pulling his knife. As the visions faded away, he recognized the motion and hum of the tires of highway-speed travel. "Are we there yet?" he asked, groggy and sore. When Sam's expression changed from alarmed to pointed, he put the knife away. Sam must have developed nerves of steel – he hadn't even flinched at the possible threat to his life. 

Squinting out the windows told Dean that they were approaching a town, the moon was up, and the road was empty. "Okay, I see: almost. Should be big enough for a repair shop and a motel. What time is it anyway? If it's not too late, maybe we can drop Baby off tonight yet. I'm hungry." They hadn't eaten since... He couldn't even remember when. Two days ago? 

* * *

Sam's head hurt more and more, but he wouldn't give in to the pain before he'd found a safe place for Dean. His brother was snoring away in the passenger seat, calmly at first, but then he grew agitated. Just as they reached the first town – Bumfuck, Wherever – after passing the state border, Dean's noises turned painful and terrified. When Sam tapped his leg, Dean jerked up, his knife already in hand. Too exhausted to panic, Sam was nevertheless shocked by the terror on his brother's face, but eventually Dean recognized him and put the knife away. 

"It's late, but maybe not too late," Sam replied. "We drove by 'Dave's Garage' a minute ago, and I'm checking out where the nearest motel is, so we can drop off our stuff there. I'd like to drop you off there as well, but I guess you'll insist on coming along to speak with 'Dave'?" 

Predictably, Dean nodded. "Right. In that case, I suggest I fix your neck and you change clothes before we bring Baby to the doctor."

* * *

"You got bit, too," Dean pointed out. Sam's neck had stopped bleeding almost immediately but there were still some dried reddish-brown spots on his shirt. "Let's get some clean clothes. Nothing like being covered in blood to blow a good cover. Then we'll go see Doctor Dave and hope he can squeeze Baby in. Nice of Dad to leave us some means of leverage. I can't believe neither of us ever looked in that box." 

They drove through the small town. At the far end was a standard-issue no-tell motel with a Vacancy sign in the front, or "Vaca y" if you believed the letters actually lit. "I suppose you'd better get the room," Dean gestured at his shirt. It was sticky and gross. Sam took care of it in short order, and they unloaded a few things into the 'two queens' room. Dean had seen worse. Maybe it wasn't exactly manly to be so aware of room decor, but in 26 years of living on the road, he'd kind of become a connoisseur of awful. Here, everything was brown, probably to show less dirt. The exception was the bathroom, the walls, floor and sink a pale pink better left to someone's maiden aunt. 

Dean plopped down on a chair by the front window. "Did you bring the first aid kit?" he asked. Usually they both carried basic supplies in their duffels and a much more comprehensive kit on its own in the car. Dean hadn't thought to restock during his WalMart shopping trip. He dropped his jacket and flannel on the floor behind him, and painfully began to peel off his tee-shirt.

* * *

"I wasn't bit," Sam corrected his brother. "The blood is all yours." Or was it his blood? Had the fang bit him? Surely Dean wouldn't have imagined such a thing? But then why couldn't Sam remember?

He forced himself to stay calm. Although they'd made it past the state boundary, they were far from safe. The tow truck wasn't exactly inconspicuous, and although the cops – the real cops – in the town they'd left behind – Sam had already forgotten its name – wouldn't know about the Impala, sooner or later they'd notice that their tow truck was gone. Oh, they'd assume that the vamps had stolen it, but if they put out a BOLO it wouldn't help Sam and Dean if they were caught with it. So they had to get the Impala to the repair shop and dump the truck A.S.A.P. Sam felt light-headed, but he couldn't afford to break down so close to escaping to safety.

Somehow, he managed to get them a room and carry most of their most necessary stuff from the Impala's trunk to their motel room. When Dean asked for the first aid kit, Sam was in the – awful beyond description – bathroom. Seeing the bite mark on his neck made the blood drain from his head, and he just about succeeded to sit down on the toilet before his knees gave out.

"Just gimme a sec..."

* * *

From the bathroom, Dean heard the the unmistakable sounds of Sam either tripping, or collapsing. He'd been doing fine, but now that they were in shelter if not necessarily safety, it would be easier for his body to override his brain and say 'enough's enough.' 

"Sammy?" he called out. Tossing his shirt in the corner, he listened hard. Nothing but maybe some moaning, and not the good kind; he wasn't sure. "Sam!" Dizziness or not, Dean was on his feet, stumbling across the room, holding on to beds or walls or anything. How could it be so far across a tiny, scuzzy motel room? He lurched through the bathroom doorway to find Sam seated half-on, half-off the toilet, head clutched between his hands. "What's wrong? Tell me what you need!" Dean looked around for the first aid kit but it wasn't there. A thin line of blood snaked down his bare chest, he supposed from the sudden movement, but Dean ignored it.

* * *

"What I need is forty-eight hours of sleep in your arms," Sam said, annoyed by the light slur in his voice. Adrenaline withdrawal was catching up with him, and he had a concussion, after all. 

"My head is killing me – and I can't believe that fucker bit me. And you," Sam's voice was seriously shaky now. "He... he almost bled you dry. Dean..." He reached out and touched his brother's neck. "Let me put a dressing on you. Strips will do, I think, no sutures." Tempted to kiss the wound, he took a deep breath.

"I don't think I can drive back to the garage tonight and walk all the way back here," he admitted. "How about we swap the plates of the truck with Baby's? Or take her off the thing, dump it a few hundred yards from here, and call the garage to have Baby towed in the morning?"

* * *

"Second option," Dean confirmed. "Less work, won't take as long. Stay here, rest, while I take care of it. You deserve it." He was getting his second wind now, seeing Sam pale and clammy, knowing there was work yet to be done before he could rest. Story of his life. 

"C'mon, let's get you to bed, little brother." Sam looked up at him, pain and exhaustion clear in his half-mast eyelids, no light in his eyes, ridiculously broad shoulders slumped. "You're not gonna sleep in the bathroom, dude. I'll carry you if I have to." 

* * *

"No, you won't have to carry me to the bed," Sam said. He secretly doubted that Dean could carry him, but knew his brother would rather collapse under him than not try to help. Not long ago, Sam had almost collapsed when he'd helped Dean back at the police station, and now it was the other way around. Like always.

He sat up a little, already refreshed from resting although it had only be a minute. "And I'll come with you. Least I can do is make sure you we're together when we pass out," Sam joked. 

* * *

Dean huffed, secretly relieved. He expected Sam might pass out upon standing, the way he was now, much less outside somewhere. He wasn't in much better shape but he was on his feet, at least. "Fine, you stubborn ass. I'll just stand here till you're ready." 

The grin he offered was more grimace. Getting a look at the bite on his neck was gut-lurching. If Sam had had one like that, Dean would've been mother-henning the crap out of him about now. 'You're Dean Winchester – this is what you do,' he told himself. He put up with whatever knocks life handed him. If he was going to turn, signs like sight-or hearing sensitivity, rampant thirst and hunger, or the need to taste blood would've manifested. An alpha could turn someone, or up to the second generation for sure. The two they'd encountered, who knew? Probably someone's accidental cast-offs.

* * *

"We really are a dream team," Sam muttered as he got to his feet. Yup, the earth was definitely rotating although he was sure the ground wasn't quaking for real. One hand on the sink, Sam waited until the dizziness subsided. He shook his head – bad idea – but he was reasonably sure he'd be able to stand – and maybe even walk – on his own feet for another while. 

"Okay," he finally said. "Let's go take care of Baby before putting her Daddies to bed," Sam joked. His smile promptly turned into a yawn. Bed sounded heavenly...

* * *

"Oh god, don't say the 'B' word!" Dean moaned. "We can't yet. C'mon, before we really can't." Sam wasn't all that steady, but they managed to get out of the bathroom without falling on their asses. Dean paused to – gingerly – put on a clean shirt and his jacket, and in a minute, they locked the motel room door behind them. 

"I'll drive this time. Keys?" Dark out or not, Dean could tell Sam wasn't up for it. "I won't go far. Which direction is the repair shop? I'll see if we can get Baby to that area, and then swing back." Sam opened his door and made it into the truck's cab, moving like an arthritic old man. Dean waited till the door slammed shut, then went around and got in with a groan. Just bending his legs hurt. Between the flash he remembered of flying through the air into the side of his car, and then being chained up on cold cement for at least a few hours, he was still sore and bruised. "Get a load of us, we're gimps on wheels." 

Starting the truck, he took off in the direction Sam waved him in. 'Dave's' was on the other side of town, a three-minute drive, with a grain elevator on one side and a diner kiddie-corner across the road, and a few nearby houses, nearby being relative. No road signs indicated a person couldn't park on the street, so Dean pulled up along the curb in front of a vacant lot. There must have been a house there in the past – the driveway was still intact and old cedars and Russian olive trees dotted the overgrown yard. Checking first that no one was watching them, Dean got out again after a word or two to Sam to stay put. Of course, he didn't. Dean rolled his eyes but didn't insist on him getting in again. He had to talk himself through every step: work the hydraulic controls to lower the ramp, unchain the wheels, crawl up into Baby, start the engine, back her off the dolly. The scraping noise made him cringe. Any worse and her front end would be on the ground. 

He really didn't want to leave her there, but he had to. As he walked back along the truck with chains in hand, surely a joke if he weren't so dead tired, he noticed one of the compartments along the side was slightly ajar. Inside, was space for the chains, along with a flashlight and a tool box. Once they were stowed, he checked others. One contained a first aid kit, fire extinguisher, and flares. In another, winter gear, a sleeping bag rolled tightly, and most of a fifth of Scotch. That, Dean took. Then, he found a tarp, and decided to make use of it. It wasn't really made for a car of Baby's shape and size, so he had to rip some of the seams part way, but it would do. 

At last, he joined Sam up front. "Alright, we'll double back now. I swear, we're not parking more than three blocks from the motel." 

* * *

Sam was quiet while Dean drove them back to the other side of the town where the garage was. He could barely keep his eyes open and the throbbing of his head made him nauseous, but he knew he'd make it and would even take over if his brother fainted.

Dean's comment that they were 'gimps on wheels' made him chuckle. "All three of us," he teased, "and I don't have to guess whose injuries hurt you the worst. I bet that tomorrow, after a good night's sleep, you'll spend the day looking over Dave's shoulder, making sure he treats Baby gently."

He missed the expression on Dean's face at that because he was too busy clenching his jaw against the red hot poker searing through his eyes when he got out of the tow truck. He'd be lying if he claimed he'd been there for more than moral support, but at least he hadn't let Dean down. Still, Sam was at the end of his energy reserves when he watched Dean drape a tarp he'd found somewhere over Baby.

By the time Dean joined him at the tow truck again, Sam felt ready to drop and Dean looked ready to do the same. "Make that no more than two blocks away from the motel," he slurred, "and you're not touching the booze tonight."

Sam almost had to ask Dean to help him into the truck again, but he just about made it on his own. "Two blocks," he repeated, "and then we can find out which of us will carry the other. Or I'll carry you and you'll carry me at the same time," he giggled. The deep exhaustion made him feel silly.

* * *

"Okay, and we'll try not to get picked up for public intoxication, as we stumble home," Dean added. "Booze for medicinal purposes only." He parked where he could see their motel sign. "See the glowing red letters? Right now, that's home." Before getting out, he wiped the steering wheel, dashboard, and inside door handle of fingerprints, and he stashed the truck's keys under the seat. 

He came around to Sam's side. His brother looked ready to drop, and Dean helped him stand, then steadied him. "C'mon, keep your eyes on the prize. And what you said about whose injuries hurt worst... I know you're tough, that you can take it. If I was going to insult you, I'd mother you first, though." Getting an arm around Sam's back, and Sam's arm draped across his own shoulder – the one without a bite on that side – Dean took a step, then another, toward the motel. Sam's big feet didn't seem to know what to do at times, but they managed. 

After only half a block, they were both panting and sweating. "This... really... blows... Not in the... fun way," he wheezed. Yes, they were injured, in a bad way, weakened from the events of the last couple days, yet he still delighted in Sam's strength in moments when he had to keep Dean upright. Together, holding on to each other, they made it the seemingly endless tenth of a mile to their door. Dean fished for the key, swore, found it and unlocked the door. "Oh my god, finally!" he moaned, making sure Sam was safely laid down on the nearest bed, then locking the door behind him. 

His brother was barely conscious, and that was being generous. Dean sat next to him on the bed – he simply could not stand up any longer – and kicked his shoes off. Then he tugged the blankets and sheets out from under Sam's long sprawled form, and covered them both. "G'night, Saaammmm..."

* * *

When Sam awoke, he had no idea where he was, nor how he'd got there. Dean was lying next to him, snoring against his ear. It filled Sam with relief because his brother's complexion was a pasty white that indicated serious blood loss. He frowned. What had happened to them?

With Dean seemingly safe for the moment, Sam took inventory of his own body. His head was throbbing like a motherfucker, and his ribs hurt – if not cracked, they were at the very least badly bruised, and carrying Dean hadn't helped that...

OK, wait. He'd carried Dean... _injured_ Dean... _bitten by a vampire_ Dean... 

Sam groaned when the memory suddenly flooded his brain.

Dean... had returned from Hell and hadn't recognized Sam as his lover. Bobby's psychic friend had been blinded by the – angel? – that had pulled Dean from Hell. They'd fought and Sam had – succumbed to Ruby, what the fuck? They'd had sex – Sam had had sex with Ruby and then with his brother. He felt sick when his brain offered high-resolution details of him humping the demon. 

No wonder Dean had been disgusted with him: although Dean didn't know what Sam had actually done, it must have been clearly visible to him that Sam was tainted beyond redemption. If an angel had pulled Dean from the pit, he – it? – would make sure that Dean steered clear of his cursed little brother, and Dean had acted accordingly. Sam had fled and somehow got himself run over by a car, which was why his chest, arm, and head were in agony.

Then Dean had sprung him from the hospital and they'd both been on the run from the authorities. That had been stopped by the Impala breaking down, and of all possible things that could have happened, it had been a couple of fucking vampires that had come to their... _rescue._

They'd ganked the fangs, freed their victims, and continued their flight, limping badly, in a stolen tow truck carrying Dean's Baby. Last night, too exhausted and sore for any further action, they'd parked the Impala close to a repair shop, dumped the truck, and returned to their current seedy motel room. Sam couldn't recall the last step, but Dean must have brought him here. 

His memory seemed to have returned somewhat now, but Sam didn't like the circumstances they were in. Sure, they had money and would get the car fixed, and he was confident they'd be out of the small town before anyone noticed who they were. That wasn't too bad, but the situation between him and Dean sucked ass. They'd joked last night, but things were anything but resolved, and there was only one solution to it.

Dean wouldn't like it.

"Dean," Sam whispered. "Wake up, bro. We need to talk."

* * *

Sam whispering to him sweetly in his sleep should've been a pleasant way to wake up. But Dean's returning consciousness told him he felt like shit warmed over. His body and mind had been pushed far past most people's breaking point and he just wanted a few more hours – or days – of oblivion. But no, Sam was right, it was time to wake up and deal with their lives. 

Still, he was grumpier than a bear poked awake from mid-winter hibernation. And Sam wanted to _talk_. Great. As in, not. They'd already established they were in big gay, incestuous love with each other, and despite the fact that Hell had put the whammy on Dean to bring him back homophobic, his memories had broken that wall. He'd been able to accept it, sort of, but talking about it, the ins and outs, so to speak, would be the pinnacle of awkward and uncomfortable. 

"What, Sam?" he rasped, cracking one eye blearily. The dark room wavered and came into focus, and then his brother's face appeared in his line of sight. He wore that worried, earnest expression that meant Sam spilling his guts and asking a ton of probing questions till Dean got annoyed enough to either leave or tell him to shut up. 

"I'm up, alright? Give a man a chance to take his morning – or whatever the fuck time it is – piss." He lurched to his feet, nearly fell over, then somehow made it to the bathroom. The light burned his eyes. He gave it a moment while his screaming pupils adjusted before he tried to aim anything important. His bladder was screaming for relief, not surprising as he couldn't even remember the last time he'd gone. Dean sighed and moaned as he stood there forever and peed, finally done in a final shudder. 

Shaking off then washing his hands, he returned to the room. Sam was sitting up in bed now, but Dean had no such ambitions, not yet. He slid back under the warm covers. If Sam wanted to talk, then he supposed he'd have to listen at least. Maybe it was just strategy, planning their next move. Something told Dean's sluggish brain it wouldn't be that easy. 

"Alright, shoot. What's on your mind?" 

* * *

Now that he had Dean's attention, Sam was suddenly not sure he was ready for a confession. Dean had just recovered the part of his memories that put him in a loving and _hot_ relationship with his sibling. How could Sam admit that he'd engaged in intercourse with Ruby? Dean hated her guts way more personally than he'd reacted to any other demon they'd met in their lives. And that had already been before Sam's succumbing to her. If Dean found out, Sam was a dead man, and deservedly so.

It was so ironic. For years, Sam had tried again and again to make Dean talk. Now his brother was ready, apparently even somewhat comfortable if the way he snuggled under the blanket was an indication – and it was Sam who couldn't do it.

"What I meant is," Sam stammered, searching his brain to come up with a reasonable topic, "that we need a plan. We need to get Baby fixed and we need money. That's first. And then we need answers. Researching the 'Net didn't get us anywhere, and neither did Ruby." He shuddered involuntarily and bit his lip, sure that Dean wouldn't miss his reaction. 

"After what happened to Pamela, I don't think we should involve anyone else," Sam hurried to continue, "so where does that leave us? With the only option of sitting ducks until this Castiel contacts us? And burns our eyes out, too?"

Sam swallowed. "I know you won't like this – I don't like it either – but have you considered laying low for a while?"

* * *

Something was off. Sam had, if not outright lied, then withheld something. Dean tried to sift through rapidly changing subjects Sam rattled off. 

"We have some money. Fixing Baby won't take that much, I can always help with the labor. And sure, more is better. You told me you have new credit cards waiting somewhere. We can get more. I can hustle. The thing is, how do we lay low, exactly? I feel like a sitting duck, too. Angel or demon, they know where we are. Demons can't possess us anymore, but Ruby seems to have no trouble fingering your location. That angel mark is on my arm now... what do you suggest, peeling my skin off?" 

With a sigh, Dean wiggled over and laid his head on Sam's thigh. "You wanna _lay low_ , I have one suggestion. A fun one." He looked up. Sam's strong jaw was set. His nostrils kept flaring like he smelled something bad or was nervous. "Dude, relax. What is it with you? What aren't you telling me? Spill, or I'll have to pry." When his psychic powers had manifested a few years back, Sam had kept a lot of it from Dean. But otherwise, they'd never really – or Sam hadn't – hidden things. 

* * *

"Maybe Bobby knows a spell or something to hide us from angels and demons and whatever may be after us," Sam suggested, but his heart wasn't in it. There were a few things to do if one wanted to go undetected by demons, but they'd never encountered an angel before – if that ominous Castiel even was an angel at all – so the chance of anybody knowing how to ward one off was as close to zero as Sam could imagine.

Dean's hand on his thigh made him jump, and of course Dean caught on immediately. Between the two of them, Sam was the more empathic person, but Dean could always read him like an open book. He sighed. "It's this whole situation," Sam said. "I barely got you back and already every fucker in the world seems to be after you, not only angels and demons. Dean, these vamps would have killed you... okay, us, but you get my drift."

Sam's fingers caressed Dean's cheek. "I'm scared, man."

* * *

"They tried. And failed. Sam, I've seen you take off a bloodsucker's head with razor wire. That took some balls. Same with whatever you did to the vamp-cops. Machete? That's up close and personal shit. It's okay to be scared, hell, I am half the time, you just can't let it paralyze you." Dean leaned his cheek into Sam's touch, turned his face to kiss the long fingers. He looked up again into the changeable, tipped-up eyes, saw and comprehended all the wildly flailing emotions from the fear he'd vocalized to love and lust to... something else. Secrecy. Dean decided to let it be. 

"Why don't I try to take your mind off it, for a little while?" He moved his head again, enough to get his face next to Sam's crotch, where he nuzzled into the denim and then upwards under Sam's tee-shirt to the soft skin of his flank. At first, he just pressed his lips there, then more actively laid down kisses. The familiar old coil of desire wound down Dean's body. Fresh from Hell, he had thought he'd never want sex again. How wrong! Days later, he wanted that and more, he wanted the physical manifestation of love he and Sam poured out on each other, all over each other, so much tears stung his eyes. 

Already, his dick started to swell; he couldn't have helped it if he tried. "Sammy..." Dean breathed, licking the fine hairs, the coarser ones midline, and down. He encountered Sam's everyday brown leather belt, picked at the buckle with his teeth. If Sam didn't answer soon, Dean was seriously going to jump him. 

* * *

Sam wanted to believe that they were safe. That _Dean_ was safe. It was true, he'd decapitated a vamp – Gordon – with wire, but then, Dean had gone to hell, and there had been nothing Sam could do about that. He'd gone crazy with loss, and then Dean had returned and hadn't remembered...

Dean's lips pressed against Sam's skin and the need to be close to him, to become one with him and never let go again tore through Sam so violently that he almost cried out. Dean breathed his name and Sam felt his brother's desire, his deep love, and his teeth on the belt buckle. 

"No, wait," Sam whispered urgently. "Let me..." He gasped when he brought his hand down to undo his belt and Dean kissed it. "Almost, almost," Sam promised as he undid the buckle and the fly of his jeans with shaking fingers.

"Dean... You, too," he stammered as he fought to get out of his clothes. "Wanna feel you, taste you, need your skin on mine..."

* * *

Trying to speed up the process, Sam nearly stuck his fingers in Dean's mouth. It would've been hot, sucking on them, but Sam was already in the process of unbuckling and unzipping, so instead Dean just kept kissing whatever was next to his lips: the back of Sam's hand, his thumb, the bone at the side of his wrist, and then, better yet, as his brother wiggled out his jeans, the inside of his thighs, where the skin and hair were thinnest. Rather than his toes, Dean considered his mouth his third hand. Super-sensitive to touch, heat, and taste, his lips and tongue were every bit as aroused as the hardening flesh that throbbed in his pants. 

"Naked...!" The word tumbled from Dean's mouth as agreement; he pulled at his own clothes trying to free himself. "Gotta feel you against me." Not concerned what got ripped along the way, Dean reared up on his knees and threw off his shirts, unbuckled his belt with shaking hands. Sam's long limbs appeared in similar fashion, making Dean literally drip with need. He was so fucking hard, purple, veins pulsing, balls tight and heavy. 

Dropping back down, Dean moaned as their bodies impacted and mouths clashed, hands everywhere. He kissed his brother for real in what was, for him, a lifetime. Their lips slid, then tongues, warm and slick. "I love you, Sam." Yesterday, he'd said it more than he probably had in a year. It had been feelings, anticipation. Now this was real, just like Sam's ridiculously huge hands on the small of his back and his ass, just like Sam's entire _being_ , striving from below. And, like Sam's rock-hard, uncut cock rutting against him while Dean shoved his thighs wider and himself tighter till their balls were in danger of being flattened. 

Eyes open, Dean met his brother's two-hued stare – right eye green, left eye gone blue. He rolled to the side, taking Sam with him, and slid his arm as far of the around Sam's back as far as it would reach. Geez, his brother had broadened out in his absence, and there were new muscles that hadn't been there before. "Sorry I left you alone, and about how I didn't remember how it is with us." Slowly rocking his hips, Dean bent to reach the crisp black lines of Sam's tattoo and licked the sun pattern's borders. "Still like this, baby?" He closed his lips around the nipple, hard dusky. Sam groaned, and slicked their stomachs with his ever-profuse pre-come. 

* * *

"Mmnnuuh..." When Dean kissed his thighs and licked over the sensitive flesh, Sam thought his heart would stop. Thinking back how aroused he'd been when they'd... fucked... this was different. Dean's tongue left fiery trails on Sam's skin and his dick sprang to full staff so quick that it hurt for a moment.

He watched Dean's nostrils flare when the musky scent of Sam's sex hit them. Instead of taking Sam's engorged flesh into his mouth, however, Dean sat up and struggled out of his clothes, announcing that he had to feel Sam against him, naked.

"Yesss," Sam hissed as Dean lined up next to him and brought their bodies together, immediately capturing him in a bruising kiss. Sam let himself fall into the kiss like a drowning man would suck in oxygen, desperate for more and feeling that he'd die if they stopped. His painful erection rubbed against his brother's as Dean kneed Sam's thighs apart and sank between them, rutting hard against him. Then Dean told him he loved him and Sam's eyes glazed over. He clutched at Dean's butt, pulling him closer, ignoring that Dean was already almost crushing his balls.

"God, Dean, need..." Sam gasped. His head thrashed and his hips bucked when he tried to get even closer to Dean. Then, Dean rolled them on their sides and held him tight, one leg still pushed between Sam's, and started to lick at Sam's chest. Again, Sam thought his heart would give out as the hot, wet tongue made love to the tattoo, then settled on his nipple, laving it with broad strokes before Dean closed his lips around it.

Sam felt every graze shooting to his groin and setting it on fire. When Dean sucked on the hard nub, Sam fisted the sheet as his dick began to pulse. God, he was so close, but it was as if he needed Dean's permission to actually come.

"Nnnhh, please, Dean, harder, pleeeaase..." he whined, thrusting against his brother's hip. "Need you so much!"

* * *

When Sam let go of his everyday self-control, dropped his intellectualism and calculation and inventory of bitchfaces, along with the natural reserve that kept him from being hurt by spending energy on meaningless hook-ups going nowhere, he was a force of nature, a pure art form, and all of that – all of _him_ – was for Dean. Pushing against him, near-frantic, Sammy needed him, needed him so bad, and Dean would deny him nothing in this. 

"It's okay, I've got you," he whispered. Between them, he took both their dicks in hand, moaning again, loud, at the pulse of Sam's lust. Wet and slippery from both of their leaking fluids, Dean jacked them in a tight grip. Their legs entwined, pulling them close. "Don't hold back," he rasped. "Come all over me, Sam, show me how much you love me!" His lower body took over, and Dean thrust up into his fist, against Sam's silky length, holding on to him for dear life. 

* * *

Nothing mattered anymore: the feeling of loss after Dean had returned as a stranger, their fight, the mistrust, Sam's bruises became meaningless at Dean's 'I've got you.' He was safe, home, and everything would be good. 

When Dean encouraged him to not hold back, to come, and show Dean how much he loved him, Sam's whine became a howl. He threw his head back and cried out as waves of desire and bliss took over his body. His ass muscles tightened and a low groan escaped from deep in his chest as he spilled over his brother's hand, moaning with every pulse.

"God, Dean, love you so much!"

* * *

Almost immediately, Sam took his encouragement as permission and cried out his release. Less than a second later, he spilled between them. Every muscle taut in climax, Sam snapped his hips, his thighs squeezing Dean's between his. Sticky white shots of cream fell on Dean's chest and belly, just like he'd asked for, liquid proof of Sam's love. 

"That's right... give it up, so good... so much, love you, too!" A lot of times in the past, he remembered, they'd bantered their way through sex, with double meanings and dirty talk laced into the little endearments. Watching Sam come, his orgasm at Dean's hand, against Dean's bare skin, hit him like a spark before a conflagration. His brother was beautiful to him all the time; seeing him like this pushed Dean over the edge, too. He groaned, thrust a few times, licking at the salt of Sam's neck while the hot wave coalesced onward from his hamstrings and lower back to his balls. "Oh shit... Sammy... gonna nut so hard...!" 

That was it, he was gone. Strings of viscous white shot forth. Dean froze, wide-eyed watching it land over a terra cotta nipple here, alongside that cute little navel there, sticking in chest hair and the last agonizing droplets in Sam's happy trail. He crushed his brother to him and captured his lush, slack mouth. 

* * *

"Dean, Dean..." Sam whispered breathlessly into his brother's mouth when Dean claimed him in another bruising kiss. He'd felt Dean's climax almost as intense as he'd felt his own, rocking his brother from his toes to the short, dirt-blond hair, and shaking every part of his body in between. Time stood still for him when Dean reached the crest and cried out Sam's name as if Sam was the only being that kept him alive, grounded in reality. Sam knew exactly what it felt like, and his balls tightened again, painfully and in vain, yet unbroken in their attempt to join Dean's.

Sam wrapped his arms around his brother so hard that he knew it would leave bruises. His cracked ribs hurt like perdition from it, but nothing in the world would make him loosen his hold, ever, unless Dean wanted him to let go.

* * *

As wrecked himself as Sam had been moments ago, Dean lay panting in his brother's arms. Sam held on so tight; he wasn't going anywhere. An aftershock or two made him shiver and twitch. They had a strange combination of bad and good luck, he mused. Hell and death was the far end of 'bad luck', and then there were the vampires and before that, Sam's hospital misadventure. Yet they always seemed to kick free and go on. 

Endorphins or not, Sam couldn't be less than in pain right now. Yesterday, he'd reached the end of his considerable endurance after almost single-handedly rescuing all the vamps' captives, that with a lingering concussion and cracked ribs. Dean knew how much either one hurt – like a bitch. Speaking of... "Sam," he murmured. "You're hurt, from before. Ease up, there." Whatever complaining Dean did, he didn't mind Sam being clingy in bed. He didn't want to risk making his injuries worse, though. 

Some of the strength went out of Sam's arms, and Dean wiggled enough to flop on to his back, pushing the blankets down so they wouldn't get soaked by the sticky mess between them. "Never think I don't appreciate the afterglow. Or round two," he winked, "later. I'll go get us some wet cloths to clean up and some nice pills for you." Sam looked at him pitifully, like he'd just announced he was leaving for good. "Be right back, I promise." 

Not too steady himself, Dean made his way to the bathroom for the promised wet cloths. Once he saw and heard the running water, he drank his fill, and filled one of the little plastic cups for Sam, too. Then he returned to rummage through the pockets of his and Sam's jackets and duffels in the half-light till he found some Oxy. The risk of addiction was high, but he'd be watchful in the coming days and Sam needed pain relief, with all he'd been through. The little guilty twinge that he should've thought of that before rubbing up against Sam went away quickly for once. Sam had been just as needy, either ignoring or using the pain as they'd brought each other off in that quick and desperate hand-job.

Returning, he crawled in next to Sam and handed over the pills and the water. After Sam had swallowed then, Dean gently scrubbed the drying semen from Sam's torso. The two of them really could make a mess, he grinned to himself. There was a pool of it in his belly button, and otherwise, the original streaks ran and followed the lines of his musculature.

Every few seconds, Dean glanced up into his brother's face, adjusting pressure. Sam was more bruised than he'd noticed before, which he blamed on his own less-than-perfect condition as well as passion. They still had heparin ointment left from his last incident with cracked ribs three years previous, the one that had brought them back together. With a so light a touch it was really only the ointment that came into contact, he applied that to the black-and-blue areas. 

Unable to resist, Dean folded the cloth, took the innocently soft prick in his hand, daubing the cooled fluids from velvet skin. He slid Sam's foreskin back carefully, cleaning it and the glans and under the rim of the corona with utmost care. Lips twitching upward again, he moved the foreskin back to its natural position and swiped Sam's relaxed sac. Relatively relaxed. He must have given those stones one hell of a work-out – his testicles still felt more like they were ready to spew than that they just had. "You're gonna need more, huh, Sam? I know. Wanna be deep in you next time." Dean's eyes burned with the conviction of that.

Only then did he wash the spunk off his own body. Tossing the cloths across the room, he laid down again, spooning behind Sam.

* * *

For a while, they just lay there, basking in the afterglow and inhaling each others' scent of fresh sweat and semen. It had been more than only sex: for the first time since Dean had returned, Sam felt that they'd reacquainted with each other, become one again, toppled the walls that they'd erected between them. He whined softly when Dean pulled back but accepted it as his brother pointed out that they needed to clean up and that Sam would benefit from something for the pain.

Sam's ribs took that announcement as an incentive to make themselves felt, and not in a good way. His head followed suit, and for a few seconds he feared he might puke, but he succeeded in swallowing down the rising bile. "Hurry up, will ya," Sam said to Dean's back when the bathroom door closed behind him. Already, he missed the warm body next to his. How had he survived the past months?

True to his promise, Dean returned after not much more than a minute with the pills and a cup of water, which Sam drank greedily. Then he laid back and waited for the pills to kick in. Dean hadn't even finished cleaning him when Sam noticed that his brother had given him the good stuff. The throbbing in his head subsided, his breathing eased, and a warm sensation spread through him. 

Dean's hands felt wonderful on his body, and Sam sighed with contentment as Dean wiped, then gently scrubbed at their combined seed on his chest and belly. He gasped when Dean applied cool ointment on his bruised ribs, but even that felt good. "You've got healing hands, you know," he whispered, lulled into not quite sleepiness but deep unwinding by Dean's soft ministrations. Not even Dean's hands on his dick pulled him out of this utterly comfortable state – quite the opposite – and Sam hummed softly at the loving attention Dean gave his foreskin, smiling at the promise that Dean wanted to be in him next time.

"Mmhhh, yeah," he almost purred. "I want that, too..." The bed dipped when Dean returned to it after washing himself so quickly that Sam hardly noticed he was gone. Then he felt his brother's warm body behind him. Dean nuzzled Sam's neck and shoulders, and Sam sighed happily. 

"I love it when you do that..."

He closed his eyes and enjoyed.

* * *

Bathed in an extended afterglow, they just lay there for long minutes, Dean holding Sam from behind. No matter who took the role of big spoon or little spoon, they fit together perfectly. The front of his thighs and shins aligned with the backs of Sam's legs, and his tight little ass cradled in Dean's crotch. Warmth surrounded them in their little haven. How had he ever 'forgotten' this? Lust, love, release, and the familiar body of his brother. Life offered little in the way of comfort. This by far topped the list.

"Sleep, or sex?" Dean asked, a low murmur into the back of Sam's shaggy hair. Their time tables were off; it felt like mid-morning where it was just after dawn. He kissed Sam's shoulder, and hooked his arm around his gently rising and falling ribs, careful not to put pressure on any bruise, to play with the nearest nipple and the soft fuzz of hairs nearby. Any second, if he hadn't already, Sam would feel Dean's interest rising against his crack. 

* * *

"Sex," Sam murmured. He felt warm and loved, and not in pain anymore. Dean's lips on his shoulder, the gentle hand on his chest, and the swelling of Dean's dick against his crack were all he wanted, for the rest of his life.

"Dean," Sam reached behind himself and caressed his brother's flank, "will you make love to me? Don't get up, you know I keep my KY under my pillow," he chuckled. "And then, I want to fall asleep with you still inside me."

* * *

"Now when did you find time to stash the lube?" Dean chuckled. He was about to say that Sam must have finally taken a page from Dean's book and learned to carry it on him 24/7, but the unstated inference was that Sam had had sex with other people, and while he couldn't blame him, thinking he might be alone in the world for the rest of his life, Dean didn't want to contemplate anyone else having their hands or mouths on his brother, much less someone fucking him. 

Shoving that line of thought away, Dean turned his touch more purposeful, and stroked the subtle ridges of Sam's abdominal muscles with his fingertips. "I want that, too. However you need it." With his other hand, he rummaged under the pillow for whatever tube or bottle was to be had. His first instinct to wrap his fist around Sam's dick couldn't be denied, but he recalled how, from a young age, playing with his hole drove Sam wild more than anything else. His own erection had a mind to seek the hidden portal as well – pre-come welled up from his slit and smeared against the inner, transitional skin between Sam's cheeks. He slid a knee up, between those long, straight thighs for better access. All over his body, prickles rose up, not from cold but from desire.

"God, Sam... I missed this. I had to have, or why would I have hidden it away where no one could find out about it?" Not even himself. Dean pressed against his brother, and finally found the KY that Sam had mentioned. Immediately, he let go of Sam's cock and slicked his fingers, and moved back enough to reach between them. Sam turned his head, so Dean could see his distinct profile. Meeting his one visible eye, Dean touched the furled little opening, petted with his slippery index finger across the center. Sam jerked and grunted, his eyelid fluttering, and his eyes must have rolled back in his head. Taking it as encouragement, Dean slid his first finger inside. 

The incredible heat! And, the way the guardian muscle clenched and loosened a couple of times... It all had Dean so hard, like he had a steel beam between his legs, every nerve ending screaming for contact. "Want another?" he groaned. Sam was so tight; he deserved Dean's every little attention in stretching. 

* * *

"First thing I always do," Sam said in a dreamy voice, "Make sure I have lube at hand when I wake up in the night. Sometimes I dreamed of you... and now you're back and you have to agree that it's still a good habit," he smiled widely.

"However I need it is however you want it. Me, I'm just gonna lie here and enjoy." Sam giggled softly. "Sorry, must be the pills. I blame you for that, but I'm feeling great." It occurred to him that he'd made it sound as if the pills were making him feel so good, but Dean was smart and he'd understand that Sam was happy because of Dean and the incredible things he was doing to Sam's dick, and not the meds. Although not being in pain also made him feel pretty good...

Sam's mind had drifted, but it was brought back to the present by a slick finger circling his hole. He groaned deeply, and was rewarded when the finger slipped inside him. A shudder coursed through his body when his hole fluttered and spasmed, sending a sweet and intense wave of longing to his balls and more blood to his aching dick.

"Oh yes," he groaned, "I want another, two more, you inside me. Please Dean, can't wait to have you stretch me wide, fill me so good!"

* * *

"Loopy already, huh?" Dean grinned to himself. He'd rather have Sam silly on the Oxy cloud than have to grit his teeth. Confident in his abilities to please, he began to ease his middle finger in beside the first. "Get you ready, baby," he murmured, as again the tight ring muscle resisted, then softened enough to allow his entrance. The rest of Sam's body followed suit, tenseness during each small invasion bleeding off. 

The suggestions that Sam had given inspired Dean to add the third finger right after. His dick was frantic to get up in there, blurting more slick out onto his belly and the sheet. Mindful of how rough he'd been the last time, Dean took the utmost care smoothing out the tiny wrinkles with the thickness of his fingers, thrust by thrust of his hand, a little deeper each time. The sounds floating back to him in response were only more encouragement, making his stomach pitch and his balls ache. "I think you're good," he whispered. "So open for me, gonna fill you and make you come on my cock." 

Kissing the sturdy shoulder before him, Dean twisted his wrist a few degrees and located Sam's prostate. The pressure around him seemed to ripple, and Sam whined and squirmed, as if trying to position his body conducive to Dean's finding the perfect spot. There, the little gland, just waiting. With his first, almost accidental touch, Sam's head fell back and his hips jumped. Stroking the spongy structure, Dean didn't need to see it to know that Sam's slit would be trickling clear fluid. "Someday," Dean promised, leaning in to scrape his burning, erect nipples against Sam's back, "we're gonna get you off, then I'll work your sweet spot over till you shoot again, just from your prostate." Right now, he wasn't going to be able to hold out, once his brother started to come. "Ah, hell, I can't wait any longer...! Need you now, Sammy!"

Withdrawing his fingers gently, Dean scrambled for the lube and smoothed it onto himself, base to tip and thumbing his slit just enough to spread his own natural lubricant. He groaned, quiet but desperate, and guided his red-purple glans to Sam's still-open hole. "Here... here it is..." Urgent signals to ram it home flooded Dean's veins but he gripped Sam's hip and forced himself to work the head of his dick through the rim a little at a time, in and out and in again, till the corona slipped under the ring of muscle. "Oh gawd... Sam..." he gasped. "All of me now, love you so much!" And he buried himself in one long hard thrust, so fucking satisfying, every vein and inch of skin caressed by heat and that incredible clasp. 

* * *

"How could I not be loopy with no blood left in my brain?" Sam asked between gasps and moans. His lower body was on fire and the tendrils of lust that wove through his chest and down to his feet were so powerful that he feared he'd pass out. Then, as Dean slipped his middle finger inside Sam's tight body and the pleasure spiked even higher, he _knew_ he'd pass out, but he still didn't. Not that his brain was actively registering anything, it had turned to mush or jelly along with his knees – and any other body part that wasn't his dick.

"God, Dean, Dean," Sam moaned when his brother suddenly had three fingers inside him and started twisting them around until Sam jerked hard and let out a moan that was almost a shriek. "Yes! There! There! Mnaah, Deeean!" His head fell back and thrashed against Dean when the touch on his inner gland continued to make his dick surge and leak. 

_Someday, we're gonna get you off, then I'll work your sweet spot over till you shoot again, just from your prostate."_

Sam's mouth went dry and his vision whitened as he almost shot when Dean told him what he planned to do one day.

"Please, please, need you now," he panted just as Dean announced that he couldn't wait any longer – and then the fingers were gone. After an agonizing moment of emptiness, Sam felt his brother's blunt dick line up against him and push. It felt so incredibly good to be spread wide, but why wouldn't Dean go faster? In that instant, Dean snapped his hips and bottomed out. 

Again, Sam almost shrieked. He was so full that he couldn't breathe. More than oxygen, however, he needed Dean to move. Sam couldn't speak anymore, so he let his body take over the communication. Wiggling his hips, Sam could only hope that his brother would get the message, and soon!

* * *

"Yeah, Sammy, you moan and yell for me, don't be shy..." His brother tended to be vocal in bed and Dean loved every filthy grunt and groan. And when he got louder, Dean's dick went from iron to somewhere in the range of medical grade titanium. More than just every screaming sensation from his sex, the frantic penchant known as Dean's libido soaked up the intense craving he'd pushed down till now for Sam's larger frame held against his chest, in his arms, while he plowed his ass as deep as he could go, and then more. They were still on their sides, back to front; Dean reached around, between Sam's legs to roll his swollen, heavy balls while he thrust, jarring them whenever he reached the bottom of his slide. 

"I wanna pound you into this bed," he gasped. "Roll on your front, Sam, spread your legs and get that ass up for me," Dean demanded. His whole body seemed to be clenching with the need to let loose and fuck like a beast, but he trusted Sam would let him know if he wanted something different. "Or maybe you want it sweet like a little virgin girl, face to face... Or I could sit back and let you ride me like a pro and shower me in your 'stuff'." He pulled that term somewhere from the mists of time. Grasping Sam's dick and moaning and the perfection of stoking him and driving into him at the same time, Dean nearly lost it, before he even got an answer. 

* * *

Already panting from Dean pounding into him and straight on his sweet spot, Sam's breathing hitched even more when Dean outlined what they could do. Sam's brain was sluggish from the need deep inside him, but the sentence he'd composed, that he wanted all of these things, one after the other, never made it to his mouth. Instead, he made a keening noise when suddenly his balls pulled tight.

"T-too late," he stammered. He was so close! If only Dean got the message and didn't stop what he was doing right now, hitting his inner gland at the perfect angle, and making all the nerve endings scream with delight. Two, at most three more of these wonderful deep thrusts, and he'd be there!

"P-p-please don't stop!" Sam whined. 

* * *

"Mmmm, _someone_ needs to cum." Dean quickened his rhythm, grabbed on to Sam harder and dug his toes into the mattress for leverage. It sounded like a porno, only sexier because it was real, how their bodies smacked together every time Dean's groin hit Sam's butt cheeks. The urgency in his brother's voice was going to set him off – the other positions would have to wait. "Too late my ass – next time!"

It was almost like Dean had never been to Hell, hadn't lost his memory of them, because the two of them like this, hot and sweaty and ready to bust a nut under the blankets, obliterated every other thing in the world. When he was seconds from orgasm, Sam begged for Dean to do it harder, faster. Drawing his hips back so only the head of his dick was inside, Dean bucked like a wild animal, anything to give his Sammy – and himself – release. He looked down, watching the long slides in and out of that tight little opening, now stretched open wide to accommodate the thickening base of him. 

"So good, nnnngh, nngh!" In the end, Dean levered himself up, pushing Sam half onto his belly and shoving his thighs apart with his knees. Unrestrained, he keened the rise of his climax and thrust and worshipped his brother with his body the best he could till the spasming of the muscle he was buried in told him Sam was _there_. He loved that about Sam, how just his dick was enough, not that he would skimp on pleasuring every reachable cell of his brother's 6'5" body, given the chance. One more snap of his pelvis and Dean's balls, hot lead shot in a tangle of unraveling knots, exploded and spewed. He yelled, unintelligible but 'love' was in there somewhere. Unable to stop it, Dean poured out his seed in a deluge of spurts. "Fuck, Sam, fuck, coming... so much... all for you..." 

Then it was over and he slumped onto his brother, hips pulsing weakly through his aftershocks. "Love you, baby brother." Crap, that was right, Sam was hurt. His ribs. Still shaky, Dean clambered off and resumed his former place as big spoon. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

* * *

"Hell, yes!" Sam choked out when Dean continued to ream him hard, pulling almost all the way out and then slamming in again with the perfect amount of force and perfect aim. 

"Yes! Yes! Oh god, Dean... Dean?" Suddenly, Dean had stopped moving. Sam was about to complain, but he knew he was coming anyway; nothing, _nothing_ could stop his balls from boiling over. And then, he was pushed onto his front and Dean was all the way in again, with Sam's hole stretched wide around the thickening base.

Kept on the brink of his climax for a seemingly infinite time, although it couldn't have been more than a few seconds, Sam felt his lower body contract. His balls pulled up and his hole and insides tightened. The fire in his loins spread through his core and extremities, multiplied and reflected until he was a whimpering mass. He screwed his eyes shut and keened, so close, so incredibly close!

Then, finally, a deep thrust with Dean's tip dragging along his by now oversensitive gland pushed him over the edge. Sam couldn't even scream out his release; it was like being punched in the chest and his breath froze as his seminal ducts contracted and propelled loads of cream in the sheets underneath.

"Dean, Dean!" Sam cried out after the first shot had been forced from his balls, over and over, and he was joined by his brother's ecstatic groans and grunts when Dean hit his peak, rutting hard and massaging another burst of fluid out of Sam. 

Their bodies were still twitching when Dean told him he loved him. As breathless as Sam was, he managed to return a wheezing, "Love you, too, bro."

Then, Dean asked if he'd hurt him, but Sam shook his head. "Never, Dean. I'm _so_ not feeling any pain. You made it all go away." He yawned. "Can we just stay here for another while? Feels so good to have you in bed with me."

* * *

He needn't have worried. Sam confirmed he felt great, which shouldn't have come as a surprised considering the drugs and the endorphins. Dean tucked his body around Sam's more securely, with his arm across his chest once again and his mostly-soft penis and balls smooshed against Sam's butt. "Fine by me," Dean murmured. "We could stand to sleep if off a while longer, an hour or two." 

He paused, not sure, now that they'd 'made love' in Sam terminology or fucked, in Dean's, orgasms had and jizz cooling on the sheets, if Sam would welcome any further commentary on the subject. "You know all that stuff I said we should try? I know it's been four months for you, but Hell-time, I went for forty years without... without you. I might seem kinda oversexed for a while." Dean took in a deep cleansing breath and let it out. Without thinking about it, he found Sam's nipple and tweaked it gently, till the center nub poked up. He could tell, it was going to be a fight to keep his demons down. Thanks to the angel or whatever, he had this unheard-of second chance, and be damned if he was going to let the flashbacks ruin it for them. "To keep me sane, I think I'm gonna need you... a lot."

Before, their sexual activity was frequent – not frequent enough, in his opinion, but they controlled their urges enough not to jeopardize any hunts or give themselves away, although a few people knew, mainly the Roadhouse crew, and they kept their mouths shut. Dean really hoped that bitch Ruby hadn't been able to read it in Sam's mind. With their tats, they couldn't be possessed, but then demons couldn't be trusted and she was fond of knives. Soon, he'd have to broach that subject. Like, now that Dean was back, Sam had no need for the whore as a sidekick. Like, they could exorcise people the old-fashioned way without Sam going all save-the-vessel-at all-costs to the tune of psychic eviction, or whatever they were calling it. 

Dean set it aside and let his eyes close. They couldn't stay here long, but while they did, he was going to soak up the soul balm of Sam's closeness. 

* * *

Feeling warm and loved, Sam breathed deeply. Aware that the pain meds would eventually fade, he'd better enjoy the comfort while it lasted. Whether his ribs were bruised or cracked, it wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, not with the kind of life he and Dean led.

"The stuff you said," Sam said slowly, thinking about it and liking it, "I want you to know that I'm there for you." He was tempted to offer that being there also meant he'd listen if Dean wanted to talk, but he wasn't going to destroy the intimate atmosphere by saying it out loud. "It doesn't compare to forty years, but after four months with nothing but my right hand I think I have some catching up to do, too." He chuckled. "Am I reading you right that you won't object to us helping each other out, then?" Sam teased.

* * *

"'Now and then'?" Dean pretended to be affronted. "As often as possible, more like! You're the best lay ever. And I don't mean just 'cuz of the mind-blowing sex... It's you, Sam. We're destined, or something. Don't ask me why I know that, but I do." He didn't get talkative often, and when he did, it was usually after sex. Dean mused, "Maybe we had to be born as brothers, so we wouldn't miss each other, like, grow up in different towns, different states, never get the chance to meet. Like, when the djinn had me, I don't really remember how much I told you, our lives in that world barely touched. We didn't like each other, or for sure you didn't think much of me. We were still brothers, though. Imagine if we weren't. I can't really. And maybe we're not supposed to touch each other in the eyes of the law, well, screw that. People in the Bible did it. Abraham married his half-sister and Lot's daughters got him drunk and had sex with him. As far as I know, none of them were punished." It wasn't a solid argument, it was ancient history. Literally. 

"Do you ever think that it's wrong? Us?" Dean asked. They'd never talked about it as adults; as teens, he'd made that decision for them – twice. "Neither of us is going to stop, I know that. Just wondering." By now, his hand had wandered down, his index finger ruffling the line of hair below Sam's navel.

* * *

Sam didn't hesitate for even a second. "Never," he told Dean with conviction. "I don't care if we're destined to be together, I just know that it's the right thing." He'd always known, never doubted like Dean had when they were younger, but that had been Dean's protective instinct towards Sam, and in hindsight Sam didn't blame him anymore for it.

"Let anyone try to stop us," he continued, "and I'll defend you and me, what we have together, to my last drop of blood."

Sighing with delight when Dean caressed his happy trail, Sam teased, "And the way you're going, am I about to spend my last drop of stuff soon?" 

* * *

"Nah... You always seem to make more. Love that about you." Dean himself, before experiencing exactly how much pre-come and spunk Sam could produce, had thought he was unusual in that way. As a teen, Sam had leaked about the same amount as Dean. The two of them had born the uncomfortable reality of damp-dotted underwear, and sometimes jeans, so often it was part of permanent residual memory. Drops and trickles of slick wicking into his boxers, or the sticky, horrible, but so-satisfying evidence of one or the other of them coming in their pants in the form of a wet spot in the crotch was just part of life during those years. As a fully mature male, the amount of fluids Sam's body gave up when he was aroused was incredible, surpassing Dean's offerings which too had increased over the years. Maybe it was what they did to each other, felt for each other, that turned on the tap, so to speak. 

Sam speaking so fiercely about how nothing and no one would tear them apart, that he'd fight to his last drop of blood – or spunk, apparently – to keep them together, almost brought tears to Dean's eyes, and he was glad Sam's back was to him. "Me, too, Sammy. You're mine, and I'll kill anything that tries to mess with that," he said hoarsely. 

He continued to stroke Sam's lower abdomen. Dean hadn't been deliberately trying to get him going, but the reaction wasn't too surprising. He chuckled, "Round three?" and combed downwards through neatly trimmed pubic hair. This was a change – before, they'd often shaved everything, and he himself had had no time or inclination to do anything with his own situation after returning to the land of the living. Sam's dick filled his hand, even when soft, and he set the body of it on his palm, just so he could feel every little twitch as blood rushed in and it changed and grew. 

Experiencing temporary vertigo, even lying down, as his groin tingled and his dick began to plump, Dean inquired, "You sure you don't wanna sleep?" But he was teasing. Later they could do that, no doubt passed out from sexual exhaustion. He hitched his hips and let Sam feel what effect he had on him. This was it, everything, his brother's response and his body held before him, and his own swelling, hardening flesh pressed against the juncture of Sam's thighs. 

* * *

"Mmmhhh..." Sam purred. "Yeah, pretty sure I don't wanna sleep – not right now." He pressed back against Dean's groin and wiggled his butt. Then he turned around in his brother's arms. "Do we have to make a difficult decision now, about which one of your suggestions to follow?" He rubbed his nose against Dean's and caught his lips in a gentle kiss. 

"Or maybe I should remind you of my earlier suggestion that I wanted to fall asleep with you in me," Sam whispered in Dean's ear and tugged at the lobe with his teeth, then licked the outer shell. 

* * *

Sam flopped over onto his other side, a sure sign he was still feeling no pain, and kissed Dean, more just a brushing of lips, but it still set him on fire. Dean's nipples pulled tight, deliciously stinging with arousal that matched below as his and Sam's junk nestled side by side between them. Busy sliding his hand down the long curves of Sam's back, Dean didn't realize where his brother was going until a warm gust of breath fanned over his ear, into the canal. Then teeth, and wet lips or tongue on his earlobe – it was Dean's secret 'On' switch and Sam knew it. "Oh shit, oh god..." It came out tight and almost whiny. Maybe not now, since he'd climaxed twice in the very recent past, but on any given day, he could almost come from having his ears played with like that. 

Keeping his head still, Dean writhed against Sam, his erection a darker purple than previous and shiny at the tip with new droplets of slick. His back arched sharply, and his head tipped way back, eyelids sliding down to offer him oblivion in sensual darkness. Sam had never liked that, one of very few of his no's in bed. It made it all the more intense that Sam would brave it for him. "Hhnnnng, hhngh, nnnggh!" was all Dean would manage, beyond jostling against Sam, his body demanding the contact. 

* * *

"I love it when you let yourself go like this," Sam whispered and rolled on top of Dean, where he continued to place sharp little nips on Dean's ears. The sudden downward surge of his blood made him groan although he was sure he was nowhere near as aroused as his brother was. The thought made him smile and he blew on the skin he'd just licked wet, earning him another _"Hhnnnng, hhngh, nnnggh!"_ that went straight to his dick.

Sam focused on the whorls of Dean's outer ear, wondering why he hadn't done this before. It was no secret how much it turned Dean on to have his ears played with. Sam wondered if it was what he felt like when Dean was licking and sucking on his nipples, or if it was more like his hole, but whichever it was, it could make Dean scream and beg, and totally lose it. One day, Sam was determined to make his brother cum from making love to his ears.

There was, however, a reason why he'd refrained from touching Dean's ears after he'd returned from Hell. At first, Dean hadn't remembered Sam being his lover, and after that, Sam hadn't been sure how ready Dean was to open up to him and lower his protective shields. Now, Sam had acted on impulse, and his heart soared at Dean's reaction because it meant that his Dean was Sam's once again.

"I love it when you need it so much," Sam whispered, his voice a little harsher now as his state of arousal followed that of his brother. "I love it when you need _me_ so much." He bit the tip of Dean's ear and suckled on it.

* * *

Then Sam was on top of him, pinning him down. He wouldn't let up, sucking the lobe and ear-tip as if Dean were one of Tolkien's prissy elves, only it worked, it so worked. In breathless ecstasy, Dean heard but couldn't really process what Sam was murmuring at him in a voice so devout, just that Dean needed him so much. That irrefutable truth shook him to his bones, white-hot lightning along his nerves. He bucked into the wet slide of skin between them; Sam's tongue licking all along every little hill and crevasse drove him to the edge. At the last second, Dean shoved his hand down, gripped his cock hard around the base and squeezed while forcing his contracted balls down with the side of his fist. 

"Fuck, Sam, god... almost couldn't stop in time." And he wouldn't, if Sam kept that up. "You're so good to me..." Dean pushed at Sam's torso with his other hand, and moved his head to stare up into his sharply angled face, devotion and lust shining there along with spit and sweat. "Since we're here, why don't you ride me?" Quirking his eyebrows once, Dean looked down at the reddish-purple tip of his dick where it showed over the side of his thumb. Even as he spoke, a bead of pre-come dripped from the slit, another working its way up the inner tube to spill over like candle wax, and he groaned. "Please, Sammy..."

* * *

"Love it when you beg," Sam said before licking along the shell of Dean's ear a final time. His heart was racing, sending more blood down between his thighs where his erection bordered on painful from being close to bursting. Only Dean telling him he was close could do this to him, and he heard not only the words but also the same urgency in his brother's voice. 

"Yeah," he whispered as he moved until he straddled Dean. Still wet and open from earlier, he reached behind until his hand met Dean's on his dick. Holding it up, he pushed back until the tip nudged his entrance and the fat head had slipped behind his ring muscle. His and Dean's hands let go at the same time, and Sam sank down with a loud and deep groan, taking Dean all the way in.

"God, Dean," Sam moaned. He shifted his hips and hummed with pleasure while watching Dean's face. His brother's mouth was open, and his eyes were burning with passion. Dean put his hands on Sam's hips, urging him to move. Sam complied immediately, and his eyes rolled back in his head when Dean's crown dragged over his sweet spot and sent sparks through his body and brain. "Oh fuck," he pressed out before gasping when Dean moved again and set off another round of fireworks.

Sam knew that despite this being the third round, he wasn't going to last long. Feeling Dean's hot and thick flesh deep inside him, stimulating this incredible spot, could make him lose it within seconds. Sure, he could hold back, but he didn't want to, it was too good, and, god, he needed it so bad!

"Dean," Sam whispered as he leaned forward until their chests touched. His mouth sought his brother's other ear, the one he'd neglected earlier – an omission he was going to make up for. He kissed and sucked the rim and rubbed his nose against the tip of the shell while he let his lower body gyrate slowly, so that Dean would remain deep inside him and yet feel Sam's inner muscles massaging him.

"I love you."

* * *

"Mmmph!" Sam rose up over him, his hand closing over Dean's. Together, they positioned it, tip to Sam's still-slick rim. Sam slid down, taking him in, grinding his hips so he bounced a little on Dean's full balls. Eyes rolling back in his head, Dean's hands flew reflexingly to Sam's cut hipbones to urge him on. 

"Yes! Yes!" He wished he had his knees under him – Dean needed to rut up into his brother's body, to give him the full strength of his love. They moved together, every thrust a crash, and then Sam jabbed his pelvis forward, his dick bobbing as he found the perfect angle against his sweet spot inside. How could anyone _not_ touch that? Dean ran his hands up Sam's sides, over the ladder of his ribs to his taut chest where he pinched the rose-beige little nipples. It was like he'd never touched this man before, though he had hundreds of times. It was like new again, each ripple of skin and muscle in Sam's arms, then back to his waist. All the while, Dean rocked up into Sam, making love to him, or he hoped, with every glance as well as his body.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, Dean ran his hands around to Sam's tight cheeks, massaging his fingers in to the bounding flesh, then further, into the crack till he could touch Sam's rim, feel how it stretched around him. "God, Sam, you take it so good... Love this... Love you so much, love you..." Emphatic, Dean pulled Sam down on him as hard as he could, needing to go deep. The pleasure of their sex was almost unbearable; Dean shook like he'd fly into pieces. His balls boiled, pressure from Sam's motion starting to press seed from them, starting the ignition to his peak. "Gonna... Gonna... With me, Sam..." By now, Dean was ready to scream, so that when he started to come, as his cream burst from him over and over, he screeched into Sam's shoulder. 

* * *

When Dean sat up, Sam's tongue lost contact with his ear, but that was probably just as well because he was so close to losing it that he feared a smacking kiss or a cry of completion might rupture his brother's eardrum. In their new position, Dean pulled Sam down hard and slid even deeper. Sam threw his head back and howled, just a hair's breadth away from cumming, and judging from Dean's sounds and moves, he wasn't far behind. Then Dean's hands were on his cheeks, feeling down the crack, and caressing his rim. Already spread wide, stretched to his limit, Sam suddenly wanted more.

"Dean, y-your fingers, n-need... in me, please now, oh god, Dean, please!"

At the same time, Dean announced that he was there; screeching into Sam's shoulder, Sam shuddered with him, as he felt his brother's balls pump out all they had left to give.

* * *

"Wh-w-what...?" Locked in place by another blinding climax, Dean heard but couldn't comprehend what Sam wanted of him. He was giving everything... Did Sam mean he wasn't big enough? He hadn't looked after Sam's needs well enough? That this third offering of seed heaved from the depths of his suddenly-agonized stones wasn't enough? Surely he would hurt his brother if he did that, added fingers beside his dick just like that, without working up to it. So far as Dean knew, Sam had never been with anyone in this way but him. 

In the end, his body made the decision for him. He petted the stretched-tight ring moving up and down on him with four fingers, two from each hand, but once his body squeezed out the last drop of juice, his dick went soft. Just deflated. "Maybe next time, Sam," he whispered. He needed to ask about why, before he did it. Sure, Dean knew other guys – look at Sam – out-sized him, and that some people practiced fisting, which was something else entirely. Right now, he needed to do whatever it took for Sam to get off, since he couldn't give him what he'd asked for. 

"Looks like Little Dean has passed out," he snorted. Mindful that Sam had said he wanted to fall asleep with Dean inside him, he didn't want to pull out. Before Sam could get upset, Dean grasped his brother's thick, upright cock and stroked it quickly. Hot and veined and hard as steel, it jumped in his fist, and he gave a little twist just under the head. Distinctive of him, his brother groaned and huffed, muscles standing out as he jabbed through the circle of Dean's fingers. "Come, Sammy! Come on me. Mess us up again. Wanna see you lose it...!" 

It was glorious, getting sprayed with Sam's stuff. His own squelched wet and messy around him in Sam's clenching hole. Now that he had softened, he was able to wiggle fingers inside, one then two.

* * *

"Oh fuck, shit, Dean!" It happened too fast for Sam to wrap his mind around things. One second, Dean was cumming, then he had his hand on Sam's dick and Sam was there, too. A sense memory flashed by of fingers on his entrance while he was buried balls-deep inside Dean – _no, wait, it wasn't Dean, it was..._

Every thought was interrupted as he was catapulted into the stratosphere.

"Mnnah! Nnnhh! Nuughh!" Sam's body jerked and spasmed as his balls tightened and heaved, again and again, until they twitched in vain, coming up dry, and he collapsed on Dean.

"Sorry for the swearing," he mumbled. He felt completely drained and it took an effort to speak, then he mustered his remaining strength to lick at his brother's neck, lapping up the sweat. "Tastes good. God, I missed this."

* * *

"Sammy... Sammy..." Dean moaned, overwhelmed by the imagery – Sam shiny with sweat, snarling his orgasm – and sounds. Though he didn't give himself indiscriminately over the course of a lifetime, when he did, Sam gave everything. Where it rested on his pubic bone, Dean could feel his brother's sac tighten as he shot and shot. Such a thing of beauty, the clench and flex of Sam's powerful physique. Soon Sam's thighs and belly were trembling. Dean wanted to do it again, too; his own balls wanted to spew more, but they were empty, burning from the effort. Warm cream splashed all over Dean's chest, his chin, even his lips, and he licked at it cautiously, tasting. 

Spent, Sam fell forward and licked Dean's neck like he was candy. Raspy, wet, the tongue swipes made him shudder from within. "Like your taste, too, Sam," Dean assured him. Unable to remain upright, he fell onto his back, taking Sam with him but leaving them joined. "Lay on me... Want to feel your body on mine."

* * *

"Yeah, want that, too," Sam gasped, only slowly recovering his breath. He moved himself on top of Dean – quite a feat when his body felt like rubber – and sighed. "This is where I belong," he told him and kissed his neck. "Tell me if I get too heavy..."

It _was_ where he belonged, Sam mused while he enjoyed the feel of Dean's skin against his. They should never be made to change positions. It was like lying in the sun and melting into his brother's body. "'s like being a cat," he explained his slightly disjointed thought, "just like they spread out to maximize their surface when they're in the sun." He wasn't sure what exactly he was trying to tell Dean, but Dean would get it, somehow, from their connection. Besides, Dean was the only one who could follow Sam's often crooked lines of thinking to a degree. Just like Sam could follow Dean's thinking... Suddenly, he was full alert. 

"Dean," Sam raised his head and met his brother's eyes. "We need to get Baby to the workshop."

* * *

"That's you... a big, purring feline of a man, beautiful and deadly, lying in the sun of my hot body," Dean agreed, though his face flamed. Maybe that was too cheesy, but as far as he was concerned it was an apt comparison, mostly about Sam. "Would love to see your naked ass stretched out on Baby's hood."

Baby! The repair shop! Sam reminded him, and now Dean groaned. Of all the times he did _not_ want to get out of bed! The sun was up, filtering through the less than light-blocking curtains. He continued to pet his brother's back, and his ass. "We must have gone at it for longer than I thought. Lost track of time." John had trained time-awareness into him, and usually Dean even kept a sense of the clock when he was injured or asleep. Just another of Sam's qualities, he supposed, that being with him was so all-consuming it disregulated his timing. While it inspired a sense of awe, Dean understood intrinsically it could be dangerous and resolved to work on that. 

"I know you're right, but I don't wanna," he whined for effect. "We gotta shower, though. Look at us, covered in jizz. Yours, Sam." His eyes burned as Dean recalled again the sight of Sam at the height of passion, totally gone as he pumped out his load. If it weren't so itchy, he'd wear the drying cum proudly. But, they were also more than pungent, having sweated buckets from their injuries, the whole vampire fiasco, and then in making love. Semen added it's distinctive odor to the mix. Those around them out in the world wouldn't appreciate it. 

"C'mon, you mentioned it, now move your carcass." Dean shoved ineffectually at Sam, his limbs feeling like limp noodles.

* * *

"And here I was thinking that _Baby_ is the big, purring feline in your life," Sam joked. "Still, better me stretched out on her hood than the other way round." He yawned. "And the sooner we get going, the sooner you can see my ass on her hood – I hope you don't only want to _see_ my ass, though," he grinned.

As much as he wanted to remain sprawled on top of Dean for the rest of his life, he forced himself to move. Sitting up was an effort, and when Sam stood, his headache made a reappearance. "I guess I should take another pill," he announced. His eyes fell on the coffee-maker, and he frowned. Whatever the thing produced would taste like battery acid, but Sam thought it might help clear the cobwebs from his brain. Dean would mock him for even thinking of this, but Sam needed a fix right now.

"You can stay put while I shower," he offered as he stumbled over to the thing and switched it on. At least, it seemed to work as bubbling sounds began to emerge from the device immediately. "Unless you want to molest me in the shower, but I should tell you that little Sam is in a coma."

Suddenly, Sam remembered something else from the day before. "How's your neck?"

* * *

"The things I wanna do to your ass," Dean drawled from the bed. Lying on his side, he propped himself up on one elbow and raked Sam's nude form with appreciative eyes. "Gawk at it, grope it, strip it, kiss it, prep it till your little starfish is stretched and slick and then get deep, deep in you. Rub one out of you from the inside. Mark you all up when I fill it full." 

With not entirely steady hands, Sam had started whatever coffee the motel provided; Dean could tell by the acrid notes that it would taste terrible. When Sam turned toward the bathroom, Dean smirked and gestured. "Little Sam's not as dead as you claimed. Look..." Apparently his words had hit some sweet spot in his brother's brain. That was all good – so was the similar stirring in his groin. Sam's dick struggled to rise, but it was too soon. Then Sam brought up his neck wound, which served to dampen the playful air. 

Not having thought of it for some while, Dean took stock. Yeah, it was still bad enough to feel, now that the afterglow had faded. "It's alright, it's healing. Probably should've had stitches right away, but we couldn't spare the time. For a hot minute, I'll admit to have been a little nervous, but I'm pretty sure I won't turn. Sunlight doesn't bother me. Were you worried I'd turn vamp, or just on account of it being a bad wound that bled a lot? We've both had worse." 

* * *

"Oh, he'll be back in the game," Sam grinned, not surprised that his dick tried to rise at Dean's suggestions, but aware that it would be some time before he could shoot again. "I can't wait for you to make good on your promises. First, however, we've got things to do."

Dean touched his neck wound and confirmed that it was still sore but that he hadn't been turned.

"No, if you'd gotten their blood into you, you'd have had cravings," Sam acknowledged. "Or, let's say, you'd have had _other_ cravings. Still, if that guy had had bleeding gums..." He shuddered. "Dean, if he'd turned you, I'd have asked you to turn me, too. I'd do anything to stay with you, you know that. Not that I'd like being a vamp, but even then we'd find a way to deal with it."

Sam swallowed. "But we'd better get our asses up. Baby needs a doctor and we gotta get as far away as quick as we can." He walked over to the percolator that had finished hissing and poured two cups. Taking a gulp, he grimaced: yep, it was as bad as he'd feared.

"Here," he said, handing the second cup to Dean. "If you're gone when I return from the shower, I'll assume that this stuff has dissolved you." Sam grinned. Then he turned to the small bathroom and wiggled his butt before closing the door behind him and starting the spray.

* * *

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam's statement, that if Dean had been turned, Sam would have asked him to turn him as well, and follow him into un-death. "I'd have turned you, rather than eat you. There are better ways of sucking you dry. Other than the drinking blood thing, and being a monster, I wouldn't mind hanging around with you for a few hundred or thousand years." He was teasing, of course, now that it wasn't an issue. Dean knew he wouldn't have been able to handle watching Sam age and die, while he lived on, perpetually 30 on the outside. 

He turned his thoughts away from that morbid statement and accepted a cup of coffee-slash-sulphuric acid. Wincing at the extreme heat and the taste, Dean blew across the surface, trying not to spill it. "Nasty," he confirmed. 

Again he was distracted, this time by Sam shaking his ass at him. "Nice moves, Sammy. You have stripper aspirations? No wonder those fangs wanted you." Setting the excuse for coffee on the bedside table, Dean lay back in the bed, listening to the varying patter of the shower spray. 

Too soon, Sam reappeared, towel wrapped around his waist. "Urgh, I guess it's my turn," he complained, sitting up. His head spun, so much he had to concentrate not to upchuck the coffee. No, they couldn't afford him to be sick. As Sam had pointed out, they needed to get Baby fixed and then get the hell out of Dodge. One of these days, they were going to have to get some real good forged identities. It was stupid to have to run from the law because they loved each other and expressed that love in a physical – sexual – manner. Meanwhile, he trudged to the bathroom, had a long, satisfying piss, and turned on the water. Nothing but cold, dammit! "Sam, did you use up all the hot water?" Okay, maybe not hundreds of years of this! 

* * *

Cleaned up, Sam felt much better when he left the bathroom, but he still headed straight for their med-kit and swallowed a handful of pills. Not the 'good stuff' Dean had fed him the night before, though, as he needed a functioning brain – in particular as his brother didn't look on top of his game either. Dean tried – of course – to hide it from Sam, but he was slightly wobbly on his feet. Still, Sam was confident that, together, they'd make it.

When Dean complained about there being only cold water, Sam couldn't help a smirk. Why should Dean fare any better than he had? "Nope, I didn't use any hot water," he shouted back, "because there wasn't any to start with."

After that, there was silence until Dean returned to the room. He didn't look very happy about the water situation, but Sam had to admit that there were nice aspects to it, too, for example the stiff pink nipples that had pulled so tight that Sam felt his dick twitch – apparently, the icy spray hadn't solved _that._

"Want me to warm you up?" Sam asked with a leer, aware that his brother knew as well as he did how empty his balls were.

* * *

Great. Dean gritted his teeth and stepped into the freezing drizzle, well aware that he'd taken plenty of cold showers in his life and to bitch about it too much was a sign of getting soft. Yeah, and his junk didn't like it either, speaking of, shriveling to prepubescent-sized and futilely trying to crawl up into the warmth of his abdominal cavity. Dean scrubbed himself in record time. The contact on his sore shoulder made him hiss in pain, but served to numb it after a few seconds. 

He didn't linger. The second he was rinsed off, Dean shut off the water and stepped out, drying off on the thin towel before escaping to the other room. Sam inspected him, or rather leered at him, eyes zooming in on Dean's bare chest. Before, Sam had had a thing about his nipples, and Dean supposed that hadn't changed. His belly dive-bombed, but he got only one small twitch from below, between the frigid washing and total depletion. And he was still fairly out of it, though the shower had served to wake him up. Too bad they weren't kids anymore. They'd gone four or five times, back then, before either of them ran out of spunk. 

"See anything you like? Being warm again must be making you frisky... Only I'm not so sure you can do anything about it yet." Dean approached and stared obviously down at Sam's crotch. Then he snorted, and reached up to pinch his tiny, erect pink nub. "Wish we had time, I'd let you try anyway." 

Turning away, he found some clean clothes. Thank goodness they'd salvaged their stuff from Baby. The other clothes were so filthy and stiff with blood, they should probably be burned. Once dressed, he downed the rest of his cooler cup of coffee, grimaced, and gathered up his stuff. "Ready?" He pocketed Baby's keys last, and stood by the door, hand on the knob. 

* * *

"Ready," Sam said. He, too, had found some halfway clean clothes, but it was clear that they needed to do laundry very soon. Thank goodness, the outfit Dean had worn the day before, which was now destroyed thanks to the copious bleeding, had been an old one. Sam thought he had underwear for one more day. It was enough for the moment, and they had to leave this town quickly anyway. 

It was at that moment that he realized that he didn't even know what the place was called. He must have seen the sign the night before, but his memory was kind of hazy. There had been the vamps, the flight in the truck, dumping the latter and leaving the Impala close to a car repair place at the other end of the town. Sam estimated that it wasn't far, maybe two miles. 

"So," Sam began when they were walking down the main street, "first, we'll take Baby to the hopefully capable hands of that mechanic. Second, I suggest breakfast. Third, call Bobby again. After that, I'm running out of ideas. How about you?"

* * *

Sam was leering at him again. "What?" Rolling his eyes, Dean rubbed his fly a couple of times, and smirked. "Dude, get your game face on, hard as that might be. First things first. Baby. We can't go anywhere till she's fixed up. I dunno, I feel like a sitting duck. Like, at any moment, something's gonna land on us. But yeah, call Bobby. I wonder why the hell he's off the grid, now of all times." It frustrated him, that their long-time mentor and foster father had gone to ground. 

He hesitated. What came to mind next was a bad, bad idea, but might be the only option that remained viable. "And, as much as I hate it, call Ruby. See if she's heard anything about anything yet. Especially if Bobby doesn't pick up." Dean refrained from adding a few expletives to 'Ruby'. When Sam talked to her, if he did, Dean didn't want to hear it. The last time she'd contacted Sam, she hadn't had any useful intel, for all her bluster. These days, he hated all demon-kind more than he ever had, and keeping his mouth in check was beyond him. 

Before he could get himself worked up about it, Dean stepped out the door and looked around to get his bearings. The previous night's events blurred into one long sequence of pain and exhaustion, but he was pretty sure he remembered stumbling through the motel parking lot after approaching from the north, so he headed that way. The town being so small and laid out in square-block style like most west of the Mississippi River, he was sure they'd spot Baby under her tarp even if his memory was faulty as to her exact location. It was near the repair shop; that, he also recalled. 

Sure enough, he and Sam had walked through the town in no time and found the Impala with little difficulty. "Let's go talk to the guy first, and see if he can tow or drag her the rest of the way, or if we have to push." 

* * *

"What?" Sam echoed Dean's question, not sure what his brother was asking. "I wasn't suggesting anything other than Baby, breakfast, Bobby." He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. "Sorry, dude, just wishful thinking on your side, but I might let myself be convinced to play later." He smirked.

"I agree about Bobby," Sam said, ignoring Dean's suggestion to call Ruby. "How about we try to contact Pamela? Could be his phone died or something and since I ditched mine, he may not be able to contact us if he hasn't memorized your number yet. Are you sure Pamela didn't slip you her number? Every woman does, so any luck on that?"

* * *

"Nah, no such luck, and she liked you better anyway, Grumpy," Dean snorted. That had been 'interesting', or it had been until the angel – or whatever – burned Pamela's eyes out. The thought sobered him out of any playfulness. He stood at Baby's front end and pulled the tarp from her road-dust-coated but classic form. Her lines and curves never ceased to fill him with a strange mix of feelings, love and awe and possessive ownership and almost something like lust. Kind of like his feelings for Sam, only those ran far deeper, benefit of their shared humanity and bloodline. Still, overall, she'd been with him, so to speak, for more years than Sam, had never left him, nor, in fairness, had he cut things off with her. 

Shaking himself, then wincing, Dean snapped out of the momentary reverie. His daydreams about his car sometimes turned kinda – okay a lot – sexual, and he wasn't up for it, for once. "Alright, she's fine, other than what we already know is wrong. Let's go see a man about a car." They walked the last two blocks, and entered the repair shop through the large, open overhead door. The comforting scents of engine oil and metal wafted over Dean. 

The shop owner, a wiry but tough-looking man in his mid-thirties in greasy coveralls and with the requisite mullet, looked them over, taking in the bruises and other signs of a recent altercation. Maybe he wasn't Ash's twin brother, but Dean would be willing to bet money they were some form of cousin. Speaking of money, Dean flashed enough green to ensure Baby was prioritized to the top of the heap, and took a seat while Dave made a couple calls about parts, after questioning them about the damage. He had a lot full of junkers out back that Dean hadn't paid much attention to the previous night, but there apparently were limits to his inventory. 

"Alright, let's go get your ride," Dave gestured to his truck in the driveway. "My wrecker's out of commish at the moment, so we'll have to go with a tow rope. Hope your brakes work." The man's accent was straight out of Wyoming sheep country. Dean tried not to make too many comparisons to Ash's hick – but Okie-flavored – twang. He cast a sidelong look at Sam, who managed to keep a straight face, and answered, "They're fine, other than the front left is rubbing, not in a good way." He hadn't intended to flirt; damn his double-meaning-centric brain. Blinking innocently – ha – to clear the air, Dean continued, "C'mon Sam, you ever have to tow a car this way before?" 

* * *

Sam's eyes narrowed as he watched Dean talk with the mechanic, Dave. The man reminded him of Ash, and Dean's reaction was... off. Sam had to admit that he was a little paranoid when it came to Ash, but he thought he had a good enough reason: Ash had been the first man Dean had been with – Sam refused to count the ones that had abused Dean when Dad had pimped him out. The thought made him even less comfortable, and he looked down.

He'd better focus on the present. Already, Dean was giving him a funny look. He cleared his throat. "I don't think so," he replied to Dean's question about the towing. "Are you sure there's no risk involved?" he addressed Dave rather than Dean. "My brother is very fond of his ride."

And that was the understatement of the century. Sam remembered the expression on his brother's face earlier when they'd uncovered the Impala. Dean had looked aroused, but surely he couldn't seriously consider having sex with her? She was a fucking _car!_ Again, he couldn't meet Dean's eyes when he waited for the answer.

* * *

"As long as the brakes don't give out, we'll be fine," Dean replied to Sam's question. 

In turn, Dave looked at him. "You do know what you're doing, right, son?" 

Dean bristled a little. He was no one's son; his parents were both dead. "Yeah, duh. Keep the chain or rope tight – all there is to it." It was years ago, but Dean had had a run of bad luck with the car around the time when Sam escaped to California. All of a sudden, every other week it seemed like something broke or wore out. Could have been the half a million mile mark, or she might have caught Dean's mood. Or his apathy. In any case, Dean had had her make-shift towed a dozen times that year. "Let's go get her," Dean added to Sam's statement that he was 'fond of his ride'. "Sam and I'll hop in the back of your truck." 

They didn't exactly hop. More like, flop. Dean almost giggled as they crawled painfully over the side of the metal box, only it hurt too much. He also noticed how Sam had hunkered down, almost like a squat rather than sit on the metal wheel well cover. Just that morning, he'd taken Dean twice; his ass had to be tender. Despite his unexplainable insecurities earlier, Dean knew he was a full-sized male packing his own version of proportional below the belt. With some guys, it was the nose or feet that told the tale. With Dean it went: Fingers, lips, thighs, dick. 

Glancing speculatively at Sam, whose face was squinched up and squinty, Dean remarked in a low voice, "You look miserable. I'll put ointment on you later." He should've thought of it – a cold shower couldn't have helped much, other than, possibly, with swelling. They'd used a ton of that goop the real first time they'd done it. It had been three times, and Dean had pounded Sam a lot harder... Then his vision flashed white for a second and Dean was hit with the recollection of the first time Sam had done him, right after Meg had possessed him. Up until that moment, Dean been under the mistaken impression he always topped. It made him a little queasy, even now, when he thought he'd thrown off the homophobic nonsense he'd returned from Hell infused with.

Before either of them could say more, they pulled up in front of the Impala. Dean levered himself over the side of the truck bed, then went to assist Dave with hooking the vehicles together. "The strut being snapped and the whole suspension hanging by a thread is bad enough, I don't want to tempt fate, so drive real slow," he insisted, once the tow rope was secure. Dave threw him a look similar to the one Bobby used when calling them idjits, but only nodded. Motioning Sam into Baby's passenger side, Dean turned the key forward enough to put her in neutral, put his foot on the brake, and waited for Dave to get back in his truck. 

They lurched into motion. Too fast, Dean thought, applying more pressure to the brake. The taillights on the truck flared bright and Dean had to stomp on the pedal to avoid rear-ending the truck. "Hey! What the hell?" he groused. Either the dude didn't know what the fuck he was doing, or he was messing with him. Dean had indicated he'd pay him plenty to not have these hassles. Teeth clenched, Dean waited for more of the same. 

* * *

Sam's sore butt protested when he plopped down on it in the truck's cabin. When Dean offered to put some ointment on it later, Sam shook his head. "Nah," he said, "I kinda like feeling your, um, how should I call it, dick-imprint?" He grinned, albeit being in some pain.

Dave started the car and Sam's thoughts turned to a darker matter. When they'd made love earlier, he'd asked Dean to put his fingers inside Sam in addition to his cock. He couldn't figure out why he'd wanted that, but he had a feeling that it might have to do with what he'd done with Ruby, and now his subconscious demanded he be punished. Maybe that was also the reason why he relished the soreness. It wasn't a happy thought.

Sam wanted to tell Dean what had happened, but their renewed relationship was still so fragile that he couldn't confess; the fear of losing Dean again – and this time forever – was too big.

So he shut up and tried to focus on the Impala. Or, Dean and Dave and the Impala, rather. Dave wasn't impressed by Dean's advice, and Dean was even less impressed by Dave's driving – towing – skills, but Dean needed Dave because the guy ran the only car repair anywhere near. That Dave reminded him of Ash, Dean's first male lover, didn't make the situation any less tense for Sam, who found himself suddenly burning with jealousy.

"All will be well," Sam told himself, hoping to keep his emotions under wrap. It was only when he met Dean's confused stare that he realized he'd said it out aloud. But then Dave started driving and Dean's attention was needed on the brakes.

* * *

It was obvious that Sam wasn't happy about something. Either he caught the same weird vibe from this guy, Dave, or he hurt more than he was letting on, or it could be some other thing only Sam knew about. Dean's lips twitched up over the dick-print comment, and then down when he heard Sam mumbling to himself, something about being well. Yeah, they would, if they could just get the fuck away and have a chance to heal up. Life didn't grant them many chances, though, and Dean had used up more than his fair share in being sprung from Hell. 

"It'll be okay. Let's just get through this." There was another jerk on the tow rope. "You're kidding me!" Dean bitched, annoyed. If it didn't mean stranding them here, he'd be more than happy to pull the emergency brake and fry the guy's transmission. At last, Dave stopped fucking around and drove smoothly – at five miles per hour – back to the shop. Tight-lipped, Dean got out of the car and handed over the keys. 

"How long, do you think?" he demanded. 

Dave shrugged. "Dunno. Got some parts and supplies coming up from Omaha, but at least half a day."

Less than thrilled, Dean flared his nostrils once and narrowed his eyes. "Omaha, huh? That's a long way off. You couldn't find anything closer?" 

"That car's a classic, but the older they get, the harder it is to find authentic parts." Dave's tone insinuated that Dean was a prissy little bitch who hadn't touched a wrench a day in his life. The man shifted his feet and Dean swore his eyes darkened to black for a second. But when he consciously checked, they were blue-green, and amused that Dean was beading on him so close. 

"Dude. I've been taking care of her since I was a teenager. A couple years ago, I practically rebuilt her from scratch. Jimmy something – that's what I do!" Feeling Sam looming behind him, Dean took a step back to diffuse the tension. "Not to step on your toes, but we're in a hurry. Business. I can make it even more worth your while but not if everything goes to brand-new 'authentic' parts and shipping. Just get us down the road, okay?" 

Again, he got the 'you're an idiot' look. This time it was followed by a glance at his crotch. Oh, so that's how it went. No way was he using his body as payment. Those days were over. Just the thought filled Dean with an inferno of rage. He was itching to go for his Colt at the small of his back, which must have shown on his face. But no, they needed the guy. He forced his voice to come out evenly, if harsh. "Saw a cafe nearby... We'll just go get us some breakfast and read whatever serves as the paper around here. I'll be back... Later." 

"If you're so good at fixing cars, then why don't you stick around and help?" That was a challenge if Dean ever heard one. "I'll knock off some labor charges."

Yeah, and probably check him out till the eyes felt like hands. Dean had had the visual once-over inflicted by strangers practically daily since before his voice changed. Some things, a person never got used to. "Later maybe. I'm hungry." It was the best he could do. He backed toward a workbench and used a pen tied to the end of a string to scratch his new cell phone number on the back of a scrap of paper. "Call me if by some miracle you finish before we get back." 

They left, walking east. Once out of earshot, Dean told Sam, "That guy seemed alright at first, but he's giving me the heebs. You get anything off him, like, anything witchy or demony?" Sam had been around a bunch of possessed people, apparently, if what he'd said about exorcizing demons with his mind was true. As much as Dean didn't like it, he needed to know what they might be in for. 

* * *

Sitting in the front seat of her car, Ruby held the ancient brass bowl of blood – most from the hapless hitch-hiker she'd picked up a few miles back laced with a few drops of her own – between her hands. Scrying through human eyes was never the easiest. Now that Sam had had her blood, finding him was much less precipitous of a process. He and his self-righteous ass of a brother appeared to be stuck in a small town just a hundred miles away or so, thanks to a problem with that gas-guzzling tank of his. Ruby couldn't have planned it better, herself. 

By now, Sam must be in mild withdrawal. He'd feel out of sorts, fuzzy. Over time, and with more of her blood, the effects, as well as his abilities, would become more acute. He was strong, even as a human, so he'd take more work, but he was so worth it. Even now, Ruby could still feel a slight lingering soreness between her meatsuit's legs. Yes, he was a big boy, all over. It was unfortunate her host body was a walking corpse, dependent on her constant presence for animation. She could try to use magic to try to get it knocked up, wouldn't that just throw him for a loop? But he _had_ had unprotected sex with her, in his moment of weakness. Lucky for him, the corpse had been disease-free.

Allowing the garage man a few seconds of demon sight as the brothers walked away, she noticed the stiffness of Sam's gait. Those rogue vamps had roughed them up good, though they'd failed in turning Dean which pissed her off to no end. But if they had, and she cringed, renewed their vows, it would be a lot more of a challenge with Sam. He'd fucked her out of pain, frustration, and longing for his brother-slash-lover. Without that advantage, she'd have to appeal to his ego, or start revealing, piece by piece, what she'd learned about Dean's escape. Lurking in the darkest corners, disembodied, of the angel garrison always made her want to puke, but it was going to be worth it. 

* * *

Sam continued to watch Dean during the 'ride' back to the car repair shop, frowning. The way his brother dug his teeth into that Dave guy was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Dean was overreacting in a fashion that Dean... didn't do normally. 

On the other hand, so much had happened these past few months that Sam again wondered what 'normal' behavior was for Dean. Getting upset over his car was nowhere out of the ordinary, but declining the offer to work with the mechanic certainly was. Sam didn't get it. Here was a chance for his brother to get his hands dirty on the Impala's insides. They'd even save some money, and yet Dean wouldn't jump to it.

In a way, Sam was relieved because he didn't like the looks Dave was giving Dean. The man was close to openly leering over his brother, and Sam's jealousy went up another notch. He was glad when they left the place.

Walking to the nearby cafe Dean had spotted earlier, Sam wasn't surprised that Dean, too, thought that Dave wasn't kosher. However, between their shared paranoia – Sam fearing for Dean and Dean fearing for his baby – and the after-effects from their encounter with the vamps, not to mention all the recent crapola like hell, Ruby, the psychic's burnt-out eyes, and Bobby not answering his phone, Sam wondered if Dean's suspicion had any real foundation other than the past days catching up with them.

"I'm not sure if I get anything," Sam sighed, "but I'm equally not sure if I can trust my instincts right now." He forced a smile onto his face. "Maybe our brains will function better after our first coffee," he said, "unless you count the stuff at the motel as such. And I have a feeling that a short stack won't hurt either."

Sam nudged Dean's shoulder with his. "Come on, I'll treat you to pancakes."

* * *

"You'll probably have to treat me, what this mofo's gonna cost me." Dean took a deep breath, thinking he'd tell Sam about the unspoken offer of payment in trade, but decided against it. Sam didn't need any reminders of that. When he'd found out, when Dean hadn't been able to hold it in any longer and confessed, Sam had been affected, too, years past or not. He didn't treat Dean differently, as if he were damaged or delicate. Nor did he bring it up, unless Dean hinted at it first. But it had... eaten at him, for a while. 

They arrived at the cafe, whose sign proclaimed it the Wicker Basket, and Dean pulled open the door. Ah, coffee and grub, sure to make them feel at least marginally better. Taking a booth by the window, Dean looked at the Specials board and smiled at a passing waitress, who was probably still in high school, so he toned it way down. Pre-Sam, she'd have totally been his type, with long reddish-auburn hair, skinny, perky tits set high, black eyeliner. Soon she returned with coffee and took their order. He ordered his pancakes with a double side of bacon, and looked over at Sam. 

* * *

If she kept the pedal to the floor, she'd be there in just over an hour. The rolling, open countryside sped by fast, only a few farms and fields to break it up. Ruby left her phone on the seat next to her, only thinking once or twice of calling Sam. No, let him call her. Let him _need_ her. Once she could sneak into closer proximity, it would be much easier to plant suggestions. Not that he was all that biddable; Sam, he was too hard-headed for that. Like his daddy that way, it had been said, and Ruby, having met the man in Hell could vouch for his stubbornness. She'd done ten years Hell-time with him, had never broken him – she had plenty to make up for. 

* * *

"Yeah, well, we both have our loves: you go spend your money on Baby and I'll spend mine on you," Sam joked, although there was a mildly bitter aftertaste to his words. Smiling at the waitress, he ordered maple syrup with his pancakes. 

As soon as she'd left the table, he inhaled his first cup of coffee – real coffee – of the day. It was surprisingly good, and he nodded in appreciation. "Maybe things are looking up again," Sam commented to Dean and pointed to his mug. He'd only meant to make clear to Dean what he was talking about, but the waitress seemed to interpret his gesture as a request for a top up. Sam was happy to accept a second cup, and his smile froze. Now that he got a closer look at her, the girl was what he'd come to learn was Dean's type. 

Jealousy flaring up again, Sam managed to thank her for the refill – it wasn't her fault that Dean graced her with such a happy smile. He found himself surprised at his relief that Dean was sexually deeply sated, and swallowed hard. What the hell was wrong with him?

* * *

As she drew closer, Ruby found another likely mind and pair of eyes to use. The girl was only sixteen, but a recent dabbler in occult readings and a few spells, mostly out of boredom and rebellion than a genuine thirst for power, but it opened her mind. The Winchesters sat at their breakfast in relative peace. Neither looked especially happy. If she was correct about the sex part, the two of them should be afterglowing like mad but no, Sam was all butt-hurt, she giggled gleefully, and Dean was less than up to par, not that he was the brightest bulb even on a good day. 

She could dispense with hearing them. They wouldn't say anything revealing in public. Forcing more speed from the whining mid-size, Ruby fixed her eyes on the church steeple in the distance, the first sign of the town. 

* * *

Sam was definitely looking at him funny. Funny as in strangely. Fresh from Hell, play-acting a role more than being himself, still, what was Dean doing that was so off? He got protective of his Baby, flashed his cash, did the macho posturing thing, not-exactly-flirted with a pretty girl, who surely Sam knew as well as Dean was jailbait... If Sam thought that since they'd fucked that he, Dean, would be all submissive and subservient and never look up from his shoes again, he had another thing coming. It had never been like that. Their love ran too deep and in a way, too pure, to allow guilt into the relationship itself. Dean's guilt over past things he done and not done was his own problem. Anyway, if Dean remembered correctly, he had claimed Sam. And sure, yeah, the claiming went both ways, but there was a subtle difference when it came right down to whose dick was in whose ass. 

"What's your deal, Sam?" Dean asked mildly, and stuffed a big bite of pancakes dripping with syrup into his mouth. He chewed a few times, then added, "I don't like cooling our heels here, either." 

* * *

Sam's eyes narrowed even further when the waitress brought their food. Suddenly, he wondered if it was only his jealousy – and where did that come from anyway? – or if there was something off with the girl. He stared at her as she put the plates down and wished them a good appetite, frowning deeply about the way her eyes lingered too long on his brother. 

Yes, Sam found Dean handsome – beautiful even – and sexy as hell, and he was more than aware that most women agreed with his opinion. Still, the young woman's look wasn't that of a sexual predator. Something with her demeanor was... simply _wrong,_ although he couldn't say how or what it was. 

It made his skin prickle, and apparently, Dean felt uneasy, too. 

"I dunno," Sam said slowly between bites. At least the food was good. "Something's off, but I can't put my finger on it. Then again, things haven't exactly been normal for us since... you returned – not that they were ever normal to begin with," he quickly added. 

"Dean, let's try and keep a low profile. We're just two dudes with an awesome car," Sam winked, "that got us stranded here for the day. Let's be alert and watch but not act before we know what's going on. And let's not forget that neither of us is in mint condition."

His foot nudged Dean's under the table. "I won't risk losing you again." How many times had Sam said this during the past few hours? Too many times, but he'd rather die fighting than ever let go of his brother again.

* * *

"You're not gonna lose me. My deal's been settled. It must be, or I wouldn't be here. So don't you die on me again, or what would I do, shack up with some woman?"

Dean didn't like to point out why he'd made that deal. He made him sound weak, all that 'can't live without you' crap. Look what it had driven their father to. If not for Sam and Dean being so little at the time, John would have surely ended his life after their mom died. Bitterly, Dean wondered for the thousandth time if they might've been better off for it. Barely above a whisper, he spoke across the table, meeting his brother's restless eyes. "Sam. We only just found each other. Don't. Just. Give me time to figure shit out. And yeah, it's good coffee, so drink up. We should've brought a Thermos." They'd just have to get some to-go cups. 

* * *

What a hick town, even worse than the last. It didn't even have a Walmart, it was that small. Ruby pulled up into the far end of the parking lot, where the Winchesters wouldn't be able to spot her car. First thing, she left her host body and slid into the waitress, who'd gone out back for a quick smoke. The fit was somewhat ill, since she was so young where-as Ruby was not only an adult but hundreds of years old, although a reprieve the ravening libido of her usual body was welcome. Immediately, she knew everything the girl did, enough to pull off the job for a few minutes. 

Coffee pot in hand, she sauntered though the aisles, refilling cups, even taking an order. She forgot to ask how they wanted their eggs done. 'Hope you like it over easy!' she thought. Approaching Sam and Dean from behind Dean, she picked up on the tension, mostly from Sam, but maybe that was only because she was facing him. He didn't see anything but an underaged waitress, though apparently even that was a threat to... what? Ruby wanted to laugh. Now that he had his greatest wish fulfilled, apparently there was trouble in paradise. 

He had no idea. Smiling blandly, Ruby made the waitress's hazel eyes catch his. Now how would she make him recognize who he was dealing with? They'd never established a code word or gesture. The sex they'd had, had been rage-fueled, not exactly something she could reference here by word or pantomime. "More coffee?" she asked pleasantly. They both motioned yes, and she bent forward a little to distract Dean with her rack. The rich brown liquid filled one white porcelain cup, then the other. She looked at Sam again, raised an eyebrow, and said from the side of her borrowed mouth, "Meet me out back."

* * *

Just when Dean asked if Sam expected him to shack up with some woman, the waitress returned and offered them yet another refill. As much as Sam appreciated the coffee, the girl was a little too friendly, especially in such a small town and towards strangers. He gave Dean another meaningful look, but his brother was too distracted by the girl's rack to catch Sam's eyes, so Sam didn't get a response.

He did not, however, miss the girl's whisper to meet him out back. Sam felt a flush of anger and jealousy, but after all, Dean had just told him that he wasn't going to be exclusive. So Sam ground his teeth and gave the girl his best fake smile. "He's all yours."

Then he turned to Dean, trying to keep up his smile, and said with as much as a shrug he could muster, "Weren't you just wondering how to spend the time until Baby is ready? Here's your chance. I'll wait here for you."

* * *

Dean tore his eyes out of the girl's cleavage when he heard Sam announce in a pissy voice, "He's all yours." What had he missed, and what the hell had provoked such a reaction to him telling Sam to just give him a little time and surely they'd be back to their previous relationship? Dean's stomach turned to acid and lead in the space of a second. Cold sweat broke out under his arms and between his shoulder blades. Did Sam wish him dead again? One night had been enough? Either Sam was the world's biggest fake or something drastic had happened in the last ten seconds. 

"Sam's full of it," Dean announced, and winked. "I'm not _that_ easy." Snorting, the waitress barely spared Dean a contemptuous glance this time, but she certainly gave Sam a long, heated look as she moved down the aisle again. "Dude!" hissed Dean. "What the fucking shit was that? You wanna be rid of me that bad, fucking man up and tell me to my face. And in case you didn't notice, that girl's been eying you like you're a juicy piece of prime beef; she just propositioned you, not me!" If he counted his Hell years Dean was a senior citizen, and at the moment he felt every one of them. "Go on then, stud, go give her what she wants. If that's your thing." 

Sam's thing had never been random strangers in alleys. He didn't have sex with people he didn't love. But maybe that had all changed while Dean was gone. They hadn't talked about that, and now it looked like there was no point. Here he'd been feeling all tender and protective and... right, with Sam, and now this. 

No, they were right. Love was a human invention, made up of chemicals and hormones and wishful thinking. Dean had deluded himself – he would never have that again. 

* * *

Oh, this was getting good. Ruby fine-tuned her host's hearing to pick up every one of Dean's anguished words and tone. Sam had missed her meaning entirely, and it was working to her advantage. She half-expected Dean to stand up and stomp out of the place, but he crossed his arms and stayed put, as if daring Sam to contradict him. With one last unblinking look at the pissed-off younger brother, she exited out the back again. Getting this little girl fired would be just one nice little side effect. 

* * *

Sam's jaw dropped at his brother's reaction. How was it possible that Dean thought the girl had been propositioning him, Sam? If she'd planned to make them fight, she couldn't have done any better... Suddenly, he stiffened. Was that what was happening? Sam didn't really trust his 'psychic' sense, but maybe the cold feeling that crawled up his spine was more than just being pissed at Dean.

The thought stuck in his brain, and he quickly considered their options. If there was a demonic presence, he couldn't rule out that they were watched as well as listened to. Sam looked up and met the fury in Dean's eyes. Would his brother still remember their secret sign language? Only one way to find out.

"Um, thanks, but I'm not sure I can get it up again after my shower this morning," he said, hoping that Dean would follow his fingers rather than his words. _Something's wrong. They're trying to set us against each other. Should we pretend to fight?_

Sam couldn't read Dean's look. His heart would rip if he didn't get his message across. _I love you,_ Sam signed.

* * *

It took a minute, but when Dean recognized what Sam was doing with his hands was purposeful motions and not random fiddling, he paid attention. Sam was way better at this, saying one thing and signing another. Their language was part military directional signals John had drilled into them, part ASL Sam had picked up in junior high, and some made-up stuff. It had been a while and Dean was rusty, but he picked up the gist of it. 

_Who? And how?_ He hesitated, still riled on the inside, then gestured, _Love you._ Sam's plan might work, if Sam could make sure that they weren't followed. _Okay, fight. You follow the girl out back, question her. I'll go to Baby, we can meet up at the shop. Watch your back._ Trying to recall the signs for all the words was beyond him – Dean had to spell some out letter by letter. 

Dean slid abruptly out of the booth. "I didn't want or need to hear about your little problem," he sneered. "I'm going to check on my car. Do what you want. And remember, you said it's your treat. Don't forget to 'tip' our waitress. I'd say give her a big tip, but..." Barking a laugh, he turned and stomped away, his heels thumping the old-fashioned floor boards. His gut was still uneasy. There must be something weird in the air, but at least Sam had picked up on it, too. He really didn't want to leave Sam behind, but Sam was capable of handling it and the waitress had made her preference known. 

* * *

Sam quickly signed his agreement with the plan, and then he burst out, "Yeah, fuck you, too. But no, wait, you're going to fuck your fucking car, right? How do you do it, stuff your dick up her exhaust pipe?" he sneered. Despite the potential danger of their situation and having all his senses on high alert, Sam had to fight hard to keep from laughing. He managed what he thought was a convincing bitchface, and headed for the rear exit.

Their waitress was leaning against the wall with a bored expression on her face. Sam was surprised – and shocked – to find himself hardening. It must be a late reaction to his anger, he told himself. It wasn't often that he and Dean fought each other, but if they did, the make-up sex was always spectacular. The same held for the aftermath of any tense situation during a hunt. However, his cravings were always for Dean, and only Dean. What the hell was going on here?

"Here I am," Sam said. "What can I do for you?"

* * *

The words Sam flung at him shocked Dean to the core. He knew very well this fight was only for show, but the urge for instant denial quickly followed by one to punch his brother on his irreverent, smirking, bitchface mouth flashed through him. Ears burning, Dean sputtered, "Wow, just wow. Get your head out of your ass! It's a _car_ , you sorry sonofabitch." Of course, he felt like St. Peter with the verbal nay-saying, and sent a silent apology to Baby, who was not 'just' an anything. 

Sam's vehemence, as if he'd been saving that remark for years, made Dean wonder if it was actually a half-truth of sorts. The incident when he was poisoned by the snake monster a couple years back could easily be explained by the exponential libido – and spunk – inciting slime. Any other examples of Dean getting off in, on, or to his car contained Sam-fueled fodder, as well. For years, he now realized, Sam had been dropping little comments about Dean's 'relationship' with Baby. On some level, he was dead to rights, but... did he somehow feel like Dean was cheating on him? That could be a problem, because in their job, they had to have their own wheels. There was just no way Dean was giving up Baby. 'Stuff his dick in the tailpipe?' Even in his wildest dreams, Dean couldn't find that sexy. And there was no reason for him to tell Sam – ever, ever, ever – about the space between the back seat bench and backrest. 

Unable to think any better of a come-back to fling across the diner, which had suddenly gone silent as the other patrons stopped eating and talking to gawk at them, Dean flipped the bird with both hands and stalked outside. Almost instantaneously, the unexplained anger and angst left, leaving him positive that something supernatural had been messing with them. Walking back to the auto shop, Dean could only hope that Dave really knew how to fix cars. He supposed if he had to, he'd tie the dude up in a devil's trap just to be sure, and do the repairs himself.

* * *

Ruby looked Sam up and down through the waitress's eyes. Some guys had all the luck. He was gorgeous, intelligent, strong as a bull, and trained as a hunter on top of his psychic abilities. The bulge he was trying to conceal at his groin reminded her again of exactly how big his gifts were. "Is that for me, or are you saving it for hate-sex with your boyfriend?" she cackled, less than scared of the narrow-eyed glare leveled at her. Ruby wished she had time to play with Sam like this longer. The strength of his hate was intoxicating. Her leash on him, though, depended on giving him a few breadcrumbs of intel and be damned if she was running him down on two feet if he got pissed off enough to leave. 

Time to end this particular bit of subterfuge. She let the meatsuit's eyes film over black. "It's me, dummy. Or rather, I'm out front in my car. I have news for you that you'll not want to miss. News about Dean's rescue. Gimme a second and then come around front." She let the girl leer at him, and smoked out. 

Back in the front seat of the sedan, Ruby shook her head to clear the temporarily-dead cobwebs, and pushed the thick black strands of hair out of her face. Maybe she should chop the bitch's hair short. Sam was already bearing down on her like avenging righteous Robocop, which naturally her body practically wet the seat about, and she turned the ignition key. 

* * *

When the girl referred to 'his boyfriend', Sam was ready to punch her, but his brain stopped him short. OK, so his erection must be pretty obvious, but how would she know about...

Just then, her eyes turned black for a second, and Sam recognized what was going on. _Ruby._ Before he could voice any questions, she told him to meet her out front in her car and smoked out.

Maybe it was just as well that she was gone before Sam could ask her anything. How on earth had she found them – him? And what did she know? She insinuated she had news about Dean's rescue. No way in hell was Sam not going to listen to that, even if he assumed it was a false lead. Damn, but Ruby knew him too well. Sam's weakness had always been Dean; that hadn't changed a bit, and the bitch would, of course, exploit it.

Still, she'd said to give her a second before meeting her. Grimacing fiercely, Sam nodded. He would follow her order to the letter. And make good use of the 'second'. Although Sam wasn't sure how she'd spotted them, he knew that demons gathered a lot of their intel by piggybacking on other people's eyes and ears. So, if he sent a text message to Dean that only he could see, there was at least a chance she wouldn't know right away. And if she could manipulate and read the cell signal, well, she'd expect Sam to keep his brother in the loop, right? So, nothing lost there, either.

He quickly composed his message, "It's Ruby. Has news about your escape. TTYS," and found his way to the parking lot in the front. Ruby still had the same pathetic miniature car, and Sam's body protested when he folded himself inside, fuming at the thought that the bitch probably enjoyed watching him hurt.

After a moment of silence, Sam steeled himself. "Here I am," he said, just like minutes ago in the back. "What can I do for you?"

* * *

Dean's cell phone vibrated in his pocket to let him know he'd received a new text, and he jumped a foot. Already? If the girl was a monster, and Sam had had to gank her, it wasn't going to be easy to lay low in a town this small. Pulling out his phone, he anxiously read the message. Ruby. It showed just how crazy things were that he found it a relief that it was 'only' her. 

He sent a quick reply. _OK. don't let her get under your skin. ask for details. Castiel?_

Once he'd hit Send, Dean watched for confirmation that the message went through before sliding the phone back into his pocket. He'd kept walking while reading and typing. Nearing the garage, Dean slid along the wall to the door, intending to spy. Imagine his surprise as he rounded the corner and no one was there. "Dave? Hello?" he called. No reply, just an echo off the cinder block walls. 

* * *

"Well, hello to you, too," Ruby drawled, enjoying the production involved with Sam folding his entire self into the bucket seat of her car and getting the door shut. "There's plenty you can do for me, if you're interested, but we'll get to that." For her, to her, or how about on top of her? 

She put the car into first gear, but not before running her eyes all over him. There were fresh bruises on his face, his eyes had dark purple circles under them, and he was otherwise pale. "You look like hell, Sam. What happened to you?" 

* * *

"None of your business," Sam replied curtly to Ruby's question. It was her obvious intention to get to him, to establish some kind of relationship they didn't have. "So, let's, as you phrased it, get to it. I'm interested. What do you want from me?"

* * *

"Well excuse me for caring," Ruby snapped. "If you want to do some good, you need to take care of yourself. Half-dead won't cut it." Sam's chest expanded like he was about to retort or break the seatbelt, but he only exhaled. It was so much fun to needle him. While she had no safe place established here, Ruby drove around, confident she could suss out an isolated, private locale for blood and sex, she could nudge Sam into it. While still riding the waitress, she'd picked up something to the effect of 'not gonna be able to get it up', which she doubted, but it irked her that in the space of a couple days he went from being solely her bitch-boy to having to share with Dean. Rumor said Dean had been purified on the way out from the depths of the pit. He'd certainly divested himself of his reinstated virginity in no time flat. Pig. 

As an afterthought, she continued, round-about, to Sam. "I can help you again, with your strength. And stamina." With a quirk of her painted lips, she arched one eyebrow. "You know the deal there. Need more yet?" Then, lest he think she only wanted his body, a mortal sin in the book of Sam, she dropped a hint. "It was an angel who pulled Dean out. Several lay siege to his prison, only one survived. Assume they have plans for your brother." 

* * *

Sam could barely keep in his snort. As if Ruby, a demon, cared. Oh yes, she'd been all comforting when he'd broken down crying over Dean, but after... He tensed. The memory of drinking her blood and finding sexual release with her hit him with an intensity he hadn't thought possible. Earlier, he'd been sure it would take days before he could even think of sex again, and he now found himself painfully hard. It wasn't natural, but it was clear that Ruby's intentions, whatever they were, included bedding him – and it looked as if she was succeeding! Shoot, Dean would kill him! And yet...

There was her offer to help him again, with his strength, but also by reminding him that she had information about Dean's escape from Hell. Her telling him that an angel had freed Dean was no surprise for Sam, but she insinuated that she knew about the angels' plans for Dean. Sam knew he had no choice.

"Let me guess, the information on the plans comes for a price? A _physical_ price, right?"

* * *

"Good guess, Sam," Ruby agreed. The boy clearly didn't want to play cat and mouse. The next dig was a lie. "You caught on faster than I'd have given you credit for. Since you've got the stick – or the dick – firmly embedded today, then we'll do this tit for tat." Eyes flicking left and right, on the lookout for an abandoned house or other likely spot to transact their business, Ruby asked, though she knew, "Where'd Dean go? Surprised he let you out of his sight." 

Next time she looked over at Sam, his face was the epitome of pissed off and... Almost no wiggle room or not, he shifted his hips and fiddled with his shirt. He was almost successful at concealing it, but not before Ruby caught the silhouette of an erection. Her body reacted so strongly, pressing its legs together, leaking into its panties and not just metaphorically, midsection going all tingly, she struggled not to swerve all over the road. "You're hard for me, don't deny it," she gritted out. "Or if not me, then by what satisfying this body will get you."

* * *

There was no way his desire was natural. Sam had no doubt that Ruby was manipulating him. He didn't know how, but even had he known he'd still be helpless against her spell – or whatever it was. Oh yes, he was hard for her, so hard that it hurt, and he moaned at the thought of soothing his aching flesh in her body.

What on earth was happening, he wondered with a last, desperate struggle against the demon's hold over him. A brief mental inventory of possible weapons came up with only his small silver knife. It was a very short-lived moment of truth: to his utmost horror Sam had a vision of cutting Ruby's arm with it and then licking, sucking her blood. 

The craving became too strong. 'I'm doing this for Dean,' Sam told himself before speaking in a shaky voice. "Dean is at a garage having the car fixed." He had to clear his throat. "We could... the motel room..."

* * *

This close, Ruby could feel and smell Sam's lust nearly as strongly as she could, her host body's. Unable to control himself, he moaned – _moaned_ – like a whore. The blood she'd given him before was gone; his body had metabolized all but a trace of it. Their link would be much more acute, once he got another draught of her. He was thinking about that, sucking it right from the vein – she read the flash across his mind. Belatedly, Ruby asked, "Motel room? You have a room?" With Dean otherwise occupied, they'd have time. It only took seconds to convey to her minion, currently occupying the mechanic's body, to keep him busy, either with the car, sex, or both.

Steering her own car back to the main street running north-south through the center of town, Ruby ignored a ramshackle house or two and searched for what was surely the only motel. Heat emanated from Sam's body; he'd steam the windows at this rate. He was panting, chest working like a bellows and mouth half-open. First Ruby cracked the window, then she reached across and let the meatsuit's hand wander his torso. "Your body's really fucking amazing, Sam, and your cock..." Yes, hard as steel and throbbing beneath his layers of clothes. Ruby rubbed her palm against the shaft, and moaned in imitation of him, though nowhere near as deep and agonized. 

"Don't you dare cum till I say." She'd use her psychic influence to keep him bottled up if she had to, but it thrilled her more to see him obey. As emphasis, Ruby delved between his thighs and wrapped her hand around his balls. Like everything else, they were solid, heavy, big to match the rest of him. "Coma patient here is staining the seat with how bad she needs you to fuck her silly," she informed Sam in a silky voice. "Do know how good you scratch that itch, Sam? Huh? Bet you know a little something about needing a big hard dick shoved in you... It's even better for a woman, you know that? That's what we're made for – getting stuffed full, cumming from the friction and creaming all over it, again and again. Are you jealous Sam? This soft, warm, little body can have as many orgasms as you can wring out of it before you blow your load, and all you get is one. Only..." Now she dropped her voice to a whisper. "My blood can help with that, too. All you have to do is ask for it, again and again." She'd found the motel by now, and pulled into the strip of asphalt along the long, low building that served as a parking lot. 

Ruby had to admit, her hands and thighs were shaking – hers, not just the body's. The thing's cunt was clenched so tight it was going to strain a muscle, and its nipples burned. The few steps from the car to the room would be a challenge. "You got a key for this place, or are you picking the lock?" she asked archly. 

* * *

"Nnuuhh..." Sam had to bite down on his hand to prevent himself from spilling when Ruby moaned and massaged him. Her order that he must not cum till she said so made it almost impossible for him to hold back. To his relief, she let go of his dick and turned to his balls. Despite having shot three times already that morning, the glands were full and heavy – and tender enough to dampen his arousal a little when Ruby gave them a, however gentle, squeeze.

He tried to focus on the demon's words, but all he could hear at first was the syrupy sweetness of her voice. Then, she was talking about sex, telling him how much she wanted him, how wet she was. And that he knew how it felt to need a big hard dick shoved into him. Sam's sore hole clenched involuntarily. Oh god, yes, he needed that _right now._ And at the same time, he wanted to bury himself in her, split her wide open with his aching erection – no, actually, not her: Sam wanted Dean, whom he might never have again, but something promised him that Ruby could be all that for him, that she could even be Dean for him. 

Sam could almost taste her blood on his tongue. Yes, he needed that. And he needed her. And then she'd tell him what he must know about Dean's rescue from hell. His senses were overwhelmed with blind desire and he couldn't think a clear thought except how to get Ruby into the motel room as fast as possible. He was even tempted to take her in the car, but that was really not an option as he could barely move in the narrow bucket seat.

Again, Ruby spoke, and it took a while for Sam to figure out what she'd asked. "What? Oh yes, yes, I have a key... Somewhere..." He fought his way out of the car and grimaced: the key was in his trouser pocket and he couldn't get a grip with his raging erection leaving no space for his fingers.

"Um, a little help here, please. You have smaller hands..."

* * *

Now that was humorous, or perhaps 'humungous' was the more operative word: Sam couldn't reach the key in his own jeans pocket, his dick was so swollen. Ruby stalked around the car, pressed her body against his from behind with her face in the center of his back, batted his hand out of the way, and slid her own slender fingers into the pocket under the hollow his hip. It was still a tight fit. Sam grunted like she'd kicked him, then moaned again. Triumphant grin on her face, Ruby made the most of fishing for the key among the pocket change, folded blade, and bits of paper, brushing and jostling the raging hard-on. "Clothes... always... two sizes too big. Ha, not... so much now," she mumbled as she strained to reach. 

If his body temp was any indicator, Sam was turning red – from embarrassment, rage, or animalistic heat, she didn't know. Or care, as long as it fueled his lust and the result was that he quenched her fire from the inside out. Between the trembling and squirming, he couldn't hold still, which only added to how long it took. At last, Ruby managed to grasp the key between her thumb and forefinger, and free it. With Sam right behind, every humid exhale stirring her hair from above, she let them into the room. The maid hadn't been around yet – 'unmade' hardly described the state of the thoroughly rumpled bed, and the lingering scent of man-sex assaulted her nostrils. Sam's too, if the barrage of mental imagery had anything to say about it. Oh, he'd been well-fucked alright. Till his anal-retentive little hole was loose and sore. This, she hadn't bargained for, but it suited her purposes just fine.

Even a body as small as hers and female had demon strength, once possessed. Ruby slammed the door almost hard enough to splinter it, then took Sam's arm and steered him ungently toward the bed. "You and your brother've been busy. You can get it up, but what's left for Ruby, hm? Get naked," she ordered, and dropped her leather jacket to the floor. 

Sam was wrestling his upper layers off, pheromones adrift to overlay the earlier stench of sweat and semen. Ruby pulled her black tee-shirt off and tossed it aside. The meat suit possessed nice, firm C-cup sized tits, not that she bothered with a bra since she couldn't be in it long enough to have to worry about them going south. Nipples hard already, she hissed at the exposure to cooler air and rubbed at the henna-colored points, so different from last year's model's pale-pink-and-tiny, swaying her hips in a futile effort to assuage the rampant need between her thighs. 

"Fuck it," she growled and reached for Sam's belt. It took some fumbling to get it unbuckled, but then his dick practically jumped out at her, still encased in his boxer briefs, which were damp to the touch. "You leak almost as much as this thing's pussy," she stated, half-mocking, half-admiring. Sam's huge hands were all over her, her breasts and up and down her back, one fisting her hair and the other reaching down to cup her ass. He was grabby, this one, could have snapped her like a twig if she were only human. Bruises? Bring it on, who cared? Toeing the fine line between emphatic and abusive was getting him off something fierce. Before he could latch his mouth on to her, she shoved him onto the bed and straddled him. 

* * *

Sam was shaking and moaning as he stood next to the car while Ruby attempted to fish the room key from his pocket. Why on earth was it taking so long? Her hand kept grazing his dick, and by the time she finally succeeded in extricating the key, Sam's lip was bleeding from biting down on it. She hadn't given him permission to cum, and that was the only way to prevent a major flood in his pants.

Following her into the room, he was breathing hard – and then the smell of semen, his and Dean's, hit him like a freight train. He could only attribute it to Ruby exerting some kind of mind control over him that he didn't lose it right there. Of how many times she'd prevented him from cumming during the past few minutes he couldn't say, but it was starting to frighten him a little. Or, rather, it would have frightened him if his brain hadn't shut down all parts not required for – not – controlling his dick.

Ruby slammed the door shut, then ordered him to get naked. Sam wanted to obey, managed to shrug out of his shirt, but his fingers froze on his belt when she pulled off her tee and his eyes got caught on her breasts. He knew they were firm and soft at the same time, and that her nipples would be hard enough to cut diamonds. Sam wanted to lick and suck them and make her scream with the sensation, but he was so awed that he couldn't move.

Suddenly, she was naked, and her scent made him dizzy. There was his heaven, the hot and wet place between her thighs that was begging for him in a language that each and every one of his senses perceived in a screaming volume. Sam was still paralyzed, completely overwhelmed by her promising body, so much that he almost missed when she went to work on his belt buckle. He was so hard that she had to fight the zipper down, but then he was finally free!

As soon as Ruby had touched him, Sam's hands burst into motion. He couldn't get his fill of her, her hips, her breasts, her neck, her hair, her ass... His hands weren't enough, he nudged his nose against her collarbone and gave it a long swipe with his tongue, then nipped at it, all the while groaning with need. 

It was only when she pulled him down on the bed on top of her that Sam noticed he'd been frantically rubbing up his dick against her. For a mere second, their contact was interrupted, and he whined loudly at the loss. Then she was back, straddling him, and Sam couldn't help it, he was long beyond his limits. It took only a brief moment for him to cup her ass in his hands and thrust up into her wetness till he bottomed out. Immediately, he had to still his motion; it would have been over otherwise. Sam held Ruby pressed down on him and swallowed convulsively. If she as much as breathed, he'd lose it. 

The expression on her face was unreadable. It could mean that she'd refuse to let him cum, but it could also mean that she was about to clench hard and end it. Sam wasn't quite sure how much the demon got out of this, but for the first time in his life, his main interest when having sex wasn't the pleasure of the other person: he _must_ cum, otherwise he wouldn't survive! Suddenly, it dawned on him that Ruby was very well aware of that fact, and he could only hope that she was an exception from other demons when it came to cruelty.

"P-p-p-plea...ssssse!" Sam sobbed with his head thrown back and his hands pressing bruises into her delicate flesh. "N-n-n-need..."

* * *

"Gnnnnaaah!!" Ruby cried out, as Sam found whatever angle needed to slip inside and sink himself into her. He was close, so close, she could feel it and smell it. Psychically, she held him back from climax, letting herself revel in his shaking, shattered response. His hair fanned out in the cum-stained sheets, the scent of his and Dean's pleasures mingled now with Ruby's. Every muscle tensed, pupils huge, he splayed his fingers around her hips and held her still, like he was afraid the slightest move would set him off. She just looked at first, but he was hers to use and she touched him everywhere she wanted, not caring if his lips curled in disgust. He was so sensitive, hissing and writhing under her fingers, or, as she leaned forward, her lips. He tasted of salt, as expected, even that little bit burned her, and skin and blood. 

The stupid thing was, Ruby loved – if demons could – this boy-man. She'd always enjoyed toying with him, provoking him, but in the little black-haired body her human emotions got the better of her at times like this. No, she wouldn't give up any more intel than she'd intended. The mind-games and blood-sport would go on, according to plan. Yes, she'd still manipulate his arousal and orgasms, and no, she didn't care how much he hated her guts for all that. There was just... something. Some need in her. This man: hers. Her prodigy and lover. 

And oh, he filled her so good. He'd have hurt her, if she'd been human – so deep, stretching her and pushing the internal reproductive organs. An experimental squeeze brought the hormone-soaked head-rush on faster. Inside, she was swelling too, the slick walls puffing to make their fit even tighter. She had to move! And he begged her, so needy, she could feel in her him – how, just like hers, his hips were like coiled springs with the need to drive into her. She _had_ to grind back into him. "Oh my god... fuck me!!" she screeched. 

It took only half the length of his dick sliding out before she lost control. From the look of it, Sam was out of time, too, chin pointed up as he arched his back. While her legs were spread around him, she could feel how he spread his thighs wide, too, under her, heavy balls bouncing and smacking against her ass as they fucked. Her clit fit perfectly against his pubic bone. A million nerve endings shot pleasure-juice. Loud moans followed when she snaked her hips and squeezed, little preliminary explosions wracking her. Ruby laid her torso flat on top of Sam's, her soft breasts mashed into his chest and ground down while the groundswell built and ripped her to the core. 

* * *

Time stood still while Sam fought for control. He could have been inside her for a microsecond or a century when Ruby commanded him to fuck her, he couldn't have said. However, the words hadn't even left her mouth when he was already thrusting up, impaling her on his dick that swelled impossibly. Another sharp thrust and Sam was there, howling and screeching as he emptied himself into her, balls turning inside out. 

His climax lasted for – yet another – eternity, and then his limbs gave out. A fleeting thought crossed Sam's mind that it was good that Ruby was lying on top of him, then the swirling vortex of his feelings, for Dean, for Ruby, for Jess, for Dad... took over, leaving him as emotionally drained as he was physically.

"Oh god, Ruby," Sam panted, close to tears with exhaustion. "What am I gonna do?"

* * *

Sam thrust up into her once more before he lost it. Already dancing her way through spasm after spasm, Ruby shivered deliciously when she was splashed with the outpouring of spunk deep inside, hot and silky. Yes, he was bare again, and raw. Just look at his face, close to tears now. "Do?" she gasped, shudders jerking one more crested wave from the meatsuit's greedy flesh. "You're gonna pull it together and listen to me. But don't even think we're done here." 

Before he could go soft and slide from her, Ruby pushed herself upright. "You seemed to like these a lot. She has nice tits, huh?" She cupped one in each had – they were like ripe fruit, lush, perfect. With a slight arch of her back, Ruby offered them to him. 

* * *

Sam felt boneless and drained, but Ruby made it clear that she wouldn't give him anything on Dean if he didn't continue. For the moment, the incredible rush for sex was gone from his mind and all he felt was the exhaustion and worry for his brother.

"Yeah, I like them," Sam said. It took all energy he could muster to raise his hands and hold them, firm warm breasts. He flicked his thumbs over the nipples and registered her – the meatsuit's – gasp, telling himself that he was doing this for Dean, and praying that he could pull it off.

* * *

Just like that, Ruby changed her mind. Women had the right to do that, so they'd been telling their frustrated men through the ages. Sam's hands felt incredible on her host's tits, but the dire mating urge was over, and she didn't want a Sam who wasn't burning for her in some manner. Dismounting, Ruby ignored the obscene sloshy noise of his softening member pulling out of her and the cum running down the insides of her thighs. She'd left her clothes in a heap, including the knives she wore, one strapped to her ankle and the other up the inside of her jacket sleeve. 

Pulling one from its sheath, she approached the bed again, where Sam lay breathless and in despair. Face a mask of misery, he had turned his attention inward. He suffered: disgust at his own lust, for screwing her, for not being strong enough to resist or smart enough to con her. Mostly, over Dean, who still was far from whatever they called normal. Lovesick sap, Ruby scoffed to herself. So much for Dean having the market cornered on guilt and self-loathing. Easy to stab the blade into his heart or other vital organ, and it would all be over. For her too, though. No way was she going back downstairs over a Winchester. 

"Alright then," she said briskly. Still naked, she sat next to Sam on the bed. "We'll save the rest for later. What do you want next – what information I've picked up, or some of my blood?" She waved the knife at him, slowly. 

* * *

Again, it took all of Sam's remaining energy to fight the temptation, but for the moment, he succeeded in pushing down the urge to lick Ruby's blood.

"Information first," he pressed out before he could change his mind.

* * *

"Yes, of course. Information." That was the real reason Sam was here anyway. Not for powers or enlightenment in his own right, certainly not for Ruby's otherwise irresistible charms, but all because of Dean. Ruby shifted closer on the thrashed bed. The heat rising from Sam's body even now drew her, hellspawn that she was. Knowing he'd probably push her away, she none-the-less rested a hand on his chest, away from the tattoo. From his hunter's life, Sam's skin was scarred all over. Old and fresh, tiny round ones and long, jagged, raised ones, his left forearm a ladder of knife-cuts. Despite her irritation, she still felt that irresistible draw of tenderness toward Sam. No one in Hell or otherwise had ever said if the spell went both ways, not catch both parties. Wouldn't that be ironic? What it was, was just one more thing to get her killed... again. 

Letting her breath out, Ruby allowed her hand to wander. Yes, the skin was marred with scars but otherwise, like well-worn leather, soft to the touch. Another feature, one light brown-pink nipple, was nearby. She trailed her fingertips in that direction. Not the angry little peak it had contracted to during sex, the disc of areola remained flat at her approach but the center bud poked up again, and she smiled. "Nice. But let me not get distracted over a nice set of... Never mind. So, Sam. Just for you, I learned of the location of an angel garrison. It's way out in the Mojave. No vegetation at all for hundreds of square miles. Nothing for them to do but watch... and talk. Heaven, it seems, has quite an interest in your brother." 

* * *

After feeling victorious for a moment when Ruby agreed to share the information, Sam almost bit his tongue. Of course, it wouldn't be so easy. What was he thinking? Apparently, giving up her information was only possible with an extensive amount of groping. Sam held his breath when the demon ran her hands over his body, barely able to suppress a gasp when she grazed his nipple. The traitorous bud peaked up and he was about to swat her hand away when she finally spoke.

If he'd been worn out before, Sam now was mad. He sat up and swore: "Fucking hell, are you really trying to tell me that there's a bunch of angels – _angels!_ – camping out – no, _garrisoned_ – in the middle of nowhere, holding a pow-wow over my brother?"

Sam scoffed. "And here I was thinking I was the crazy one."

* * *

"That's right, believe it or don't. You think the feathered twits only sprang him out of the box 'cuz of his pretty, pretty face?" Ruby growled, backing up but holding his gaze. Oh, her boy was _pissed_. He loomed over her, ready to strike. "Or because he was... deserving? Ask Dean sometime what he did in Hell. I don't even get why they picked him. Not entirely." 

That was sure to pique his interest. Dean was a closed-mouthed bastard, even to his brother. Ruby let that dangle, and flicked her eyes down once at the other _dangle_. In her world, sex and anger went together. Time to ratchet that up a notch. "Or maybe, now that your run with Azazel, the one you called Yellow-Eyes, is over, you're just jonesing for a little attention from beyond this stinking little planet, huh? No longer the Boy King, only a pawn," she sneered. "Well, you know what to do." 

* * *

Sam was convinced that Ruby was bullshitting him. An angel camp in the desert was a tall order, even for someone versed in the weirder supernatural phenomena. However, something about the way she spoke made him pay closer attention. Her reference to 'the feathered twits' implied that she was familiar with angels where he and Dean were still not sold that these creatures really existed. All they had was a name and a vague reference, but Ruby _believed_ in what she told Sam about the angels and that they had pulled Dean from the pit. As for why, Ruby didn't seem to know, but her intel might actually be true and useful. On the other hand, he knew only too well that he couldn't trust her.

He opened his mouth and closed it again: Sam's confusion was real. "I," he began and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not sure what to believe any more," he confessed, and although he hadn't meant it like this it was the truth. "And I don't know what to do," he added sourly, "but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

* * *

"Oh, you think so?" Ruby raised an eyebrow at him. So, he didn't believe in angels. Huh. She wondered if that was just Sam, just Winchesters, or if all hunters were so ignorant. He knew, had known for years, that demons were real, so why not their celestial counterparts? Of all the beings and creatures humans chose to lump into the term 'supernatural', the most lore by far existed on angels. 

His anger had gone as fast as it had appeared, which left Ruby feeling flat, empty. "They're very real. My advice: stay off their radar. Problem is, I don't know how. They're kind of omniscient, which is a problem. I only got that close because they weren't paying attention. Pulling Dean out started some sort of chain reaction. If he's the start, he'll be in it at the end, whatever it is." The debate she'd overheard pieces of had become especially heated whenever Winchester's part was referenced. 

And now for the temptation. Though she was already naked, Ruby wiggled around a bit, calling attention to the fact. "If you were stronger, you might be able to dig up more information... Or protect him." Once again she flipped the knife. 

* * *

If looks could kill, Ruby would fall dead at the hatred in Sam's eyes. He didn't even bother to conceal it as, apparently, the bitch could read his thoughts anyway. In which case, it didn't matter if he explained to her that he did believe in angels but had never heard of one interfering with things in this world. Neither would she be surprised by his sinking feeling when she told him that Dean was, indeed, at the center of this – whatever 'this' was.

As for Sam, he shouldn't be surprised that Ruby would insist on the second point of her agenda, feeding him her blood. He had to swallow down the bile that rose at the thought of drinking demon blood, and the memory of what had happened the last time. Sam laughed angrily at himself: this time, he'd even _fucked_ her without a single drop of the vile fluid inside him.

Still, he knew that the only possible lead to saving his brother so far had come from Ruby. She'd made it clear that there was further information to be obtained, but only if he followed her dictate. If this was the only road to Dean's salvation, Sam knew he'd take it. Steadying his breath, and steeling his gaze, Sam's eyes met Ruby's.

"Do it."

* * *

"Reeeealllly, now?" Ruby drawled. This boy flashed hot and cold faster than a spring storm. It was both amusing and annoying. "In case you didn't recall, the blood isn't just for us-" she knew how much he'd hate the inclusive pronoun in this context, and couldn't help but dart a glance at his crotch, "-but to heighten your gifts: exorcisms by Sam. By the way, the mechanic who's supposed to work on Dean's precious hunk of junk is hosting one of mine. He doesn't know anything, other than how good your brother's ass looks bent over the front grill, but he'll be good practice. So when we're done here, maybe it's time you show dear old Dean what Sammy can do." 

With that, before he could get any ideas, she showed him her teeth in what a human would consider a sick parody of a smile. Whoever thought up the physical specifications of demon possession all those millenia ago would have served them better with some display of fangs. "If you ever try it on me, I'll claw my way out again and the spit-roasting you'll get will be anything but pleasurable. Here," she stretched out on her back, thighs open to reveal their sticky combined fluids, slowly pooling under her ass on the sheet, "and here." Fine, she had a certain sense of the dramatic. Ruby laid the knife on her belly, careful not to nick. "You _do it_." 

* * *

Ruby repeated the spiel Sam was already familiar with, so at first he wasn't listening very closely when she brought Dean up. However, he could only snort at her suggestion that Sam exorcise the demon in the car mechanic – so their instinct had been correct – and show Dean what he could do.

"First," he sneered, "my brother is a better man than I am. He won't let himself be seduced by a demon like I did with you. And second, showing him that I can exorcise is the last thing I'd do."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Since you're threatening me so nicely, let me respond in kind. I don't care about your plans for me after returning from hell. If you mess with Dean, I'll take great pleasure in squeezing you out of this body, slowly and painfully."

They glared at each other for a minute before Ruby held out the knife to him without words. The message was clear to read in her mocking eyes: _Are you done, dumbass? Then let's get on with this._

Sighing, Sam reached for the knife, silently cursing himself. There was no way around this, if he wanted to help Dean, he needed to entertain the demon.

"Where do you want it?" he asked curtly.

* * *

Puny human. Sam was physically stronger than most men, but his intimidation tactics didn't work. Ruby shot him a bored look, sighed, and held out her arm in his general direction, the delicate white flesh of the inner forearm up. "Since you're going to be boring..." 

If he had no interest continuing this, then Ruby would talk to her superior, the MIA bitch, about leaving them to their own devices. She was sick of Sam's attitude, anyway. His grunts of disbelief. That constipated, holier-than-thou facial expression. She'd miss every little inroad, the all-too-infrequent gratitude, and of course, his dick. But the problem with dick was that it tended to be attached to a dick. The halo brigade could use the boys to crack open the rift and bring on the end, brother to fight brother. Let the angel keep them in the dark till the last second – then Sam would be back, begging. 

She hissed when the blade sliced through to the artery. A cut like that would easily cause a live body to bleed out. Sam's lips sucked the wound like a teat, and Ruby smiled. 

* * *

The moment Sam's lips touched Ruby's arm, tasted her blood, all his previous thoughts were forgotten. There was only the incredible power rush that came with her demonic essence. Immediately, he felt his dick filling out as if he hadn't had sex in eons. He sucked greedily until the gushing fountain tapered down to a trickle. 

When the blood flow ceased altogether, Sam missed it already, was yearning for the next time she'd offer him the treat, but he still felt invigorated beyond belief. 

The wound had closed. It was now only a thin red line that would be gone altogether in only a few seconds. Sam smiled to himself, wondering if he could somehow absorb Ruby's healing powers; they would be extremely useful with his kind of lifestyle. Instead of sucking, he placed soft kisses on her arm, thanking her for her precious gift, moaning with gratitude – and arousal.

* * *

"Good, good boy, Sam... That's right," Ruby whispered. It felt so good, and it hurt, too, and she loved it. A living person might liken it to getting a tattoo or piercings, or kinkier acts. Drinking blood was pretty kinky, all the way around. 

She rolled over enough to be able to stroke Sam's longish hair. Her powers unconsciously controlled the flow – gushing at first, as if Sam were a hungry infant, slowing then sealing the wound when she'd given up all she could. "Better now?" she asked unnecessarily. Sam's eyes had darkened with the punch-drunk, reeling sensation of the blood and strength inside him. Once again, he was erect and dripping. Gorgeous. She'd let him turn her over and use her hard if that was what he needed, but Ruby, despite lacking a certain organ to fulfill his cravings like no other, knew that plenty of things remained she could do to him. Being a demon, she didn't much care about germs or cleanliness, only practiced it herself out of habit, having to do so in the world of God's naked apes, which were so fastidious these last hundred years. 

"Let me treat you now..." she murmured as she traced the lines of his neck, chest, and abdomen downwards, aiming for the swollen length that jerked toward her small hand. "Whatever you want, and I do mean anything." Looking into his eyes, Ruby hoped she conveyed this could go beyond straight – vanilla, hetero-type – sex. She licked her lips in anticipation of touching him. It was always a thrill with Sam. 

* * *

This was a new one. Neither the first time they'd come together sexually nor this time had Sam even thought about what he might have _wanted._ It had all been about what he _needed,_ the urge so violent that it had completely shut down his – upstairs, as Dean would point out – brain. Somehow, he now realized, Ruby was able to control his desire. It was a frightening thought, even more so because it notched up his arousal and made him shudder from it.

_"Whatever you want, and I do mean anything."_

_I want Dean!_ was the only response in Sam's fried brain, but of course that wasn't what he could tell the demon, although the bitch knew for sure that this was what he wanted, whether or not she could actually read his mind.

After thinking about it for a minute, not missing that Ruby wasn't one for patience, he decided that he would tell her the truth. About what he wanted from _her,_ sexually, not about what he _really_ wanted.

"What if I don't know what I want?" Sam asked. "I'm sure you have a few ideas."

* * *

He was taking too long. Overthinking. The second she'd thrown the suggestion out there, the static from Sam's brain formed into Dean-shaped porn. Finally – and carefully – Sam admitted he didn't know what he wanted. With her. Then he left it up to her. 

Ruby wanted to call bullshit. Earlier, he'd been almost out of his mind with the need to sink himself in her and rut like an animal. She could admit to having influenced him, but it wouldn't have affected him if there'd been no desire to work with. Sam had needs that she was certain a lot of men didn't, or that they repressed. 

"I have lots of ideas. Shall I name off a few things? Here's the short list. Oral. Anal. Both. Or we could make sweet, sweet love like some vanilla hippies." The look on her face was anything but sweet, Ruby was sure. Sam wanted that with his brother, not her. Somehow she doubted Dean was good for much in bed besides getting his rocks off, and that Sam's mental backlash on the subject involved a vivid fantasy life. "I have a vibrator in my coat. Ever have your prostate stimulated with one of them? There's that, or I could peg you." 

* * *

Sam's jaw dropped. He stared at Ruby for almost a minute before closing his mouth. Swallowed hard. Opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. This wasn't what he'd expected when he'd handed the decision over to her: Sam wanted _her_ to decide, and instead she offered him choices he'd rather not think of.

However, it seemed that his dick had already made the decision for him. He struggled to say it out loud because then it would become real, but he knew it was a lost cause. Right from the beginning, the first few fumblings with Dean, when he'd been thirteen, had irrevocably burned it into his brain that having his back door loved – as Dean like to call it – was his ultimate pleasure. And Dean was the one to give it to him.

There had been only one exception in his life, the day Dean had broken up with him shortly before Sam's fifteenth birthday. Dean had taken him to a girl, Nicole, in order to get him laid. Sam had, at first, refused, but the pain over losing Dean had overwhelmed him to the point where he had accepted Nicole body for comfort. She'd given herself without regrets, and Sam didn't regret it either because he really liked her – although he wished they'd met under different circumstances. Nicole had licked his hole and turned him inside out. It had been incredible, yet loving. 

What Ruby suggested, however...

"The vibrator," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

* * *

Sam hemmed and hawed and turned a few different shades of pink, white, and green, but eventually Ruby sensed the change. His whole demeanor, and his psychic waves, told her he was going ask for something that was a secretive and maybe even shameful to him, a want that he might never reveal to his brother. 

_"The vibrator."_

Firm hold on her glee, Ruby nodded and slid off the bed long enough to fetch it out of one of the inner pockets of her jacket. It wasn't a monster, maybe seven inches, lifelike, and not as thick as she assumed Dean was likely to be – unless the guy was seriously overcompensating. The previously unused packets of lube came out, too. Just thinking about teasing Sam's needy hole with it was getting her wet again, and her knees were none too steady. 

Ruby crawled up next to him, and showed him her dick. "It's neither fancy nor huge, but a girl has to travel light sometimes." Sam had had so much trouble spitting out a decision, she decided to make the rest of this easier on him, to just follow her directions. "Okay, babe, roll to your side, face away from me and one knee up to your chest," she murmured gently. She'd rather have seen his face for this, but doubted the feeling was mutual. A reach-around would be easier, this way, if it became necessary. Ruby looked away for a second to give him a small modicum of privacy, and flicked the switch on the base of the vibe. 

* * *

Once the words were out, there was no way Sam could take them back. Even if he could force himself to change his mind, Ruby would never go for it. And did he really want to get out of this? Dean would never know, after all...

Damn his traitorous brain – brains, actually, as for once in a lifetime his dick and his mind seemed to agree. Now, that was a scary thought, but it was interrupted when the demon pulled the vibrator from its jacket pocket and displayed it for him.

Sam's mouth turned so dry that he felt a cough tickling in his throat. The dryness was likely caused by the copious fluids suddenly running from his dick at the prospect of being... penetrated... no, _fucked_ with that thing. He could only gawp at her and nod to her instructions, then follow them.

Having his back turned to Ruby heightened his nervousness as he wouldn't know what to expect – OK, he knew what to expect, but not being able to watch it made him bite down on his lower lip to prevent it from trembling. Which was ridiculous because if he couldn't see her, then the demon couldn't see his face either, but he didn't have any higher brain functions left, so he just took a deep breath and waited.

He heard it when she switched the device on, the low humming first, then a higher pitched sound as she played with the speed control. Unable to control his need any longer, Sam reached behind and exposed his scared little pucker, holding himself open.

"Ruby...!" he groaned. "Just do it already!"

* * *

Sam twisted his body around into the position Ruby had asked him to, further tangling the sheets. His long, long back and perky round cheeks were to her, the whole line extended double by his other leg still down. If Sam's type, other than Dean, was petite, curvy, dark-haired women, Ruby's preference was looming and bratty with baggage galore. And holy shit on a shingle, Batman! She nearly hyperventilated, seeing then comprehending Sam's arm, ropy with raised veins, reach back and hold his own crack open for her. So easy, such a slut for this! His dusky hole was puffy, used. Sliding her index finger in took no effort. On the inside, Sam's passage was smooth, hot, so different from the rougher surfaces of her inner walls. She pried him open just a little more, adding the middle finger, pleased at the distinct, distressed chuffing noise he choked out, followed by a groan and an unmistakable backward thrust of his ass.

Impatient herself, Ruby dropped the vibrator on the mattress long enough to rip open one lube packet with her teeth. The fake cock rolled into the valley made by the dip in the mattress; Sam jerked when it bumped his butt cheek. Quickly, Ruby smeared the blob of lube over his entrance. "You might not even need this, you're still bunged out and slick from... Whatever you did earlier." Sam grunted with every touch, more when she slid a finger in. While his rim still had a good grip, he wasn't virgin-tight. Good, this wouldn't take all day. 

There were a few more drops of lube, which Ruby squeezed out onto her vibrator. Next to Sam, the thing felt inadequate in her fist. Well, other than the buzzing. Setting it to the second weakest, Ruby pressed the head to the center of Sam's hole. He clenched. "Let me in, Sam... Gonna be like nothing you ever felt." Little by little, the pucker loosened. Ruby rubbed at the rim her vibrator, then again, pushed the very tip of it in. Then more. Inch by inch, she advanced it, pulled back a little, moving the angle around, stopping every so often to give him a break. Oh. She was SO fucking him! The psychic rush would have knocked her on her ass if she weren't already. 

By the time Ruby had her fake cock halfway in, Sam was shaking and blowing out loudly with every breath. She wrenched her wrist and aimed for the sweet spot... And found it, if the pained bellow from Sam wasn't faked. Easing her own body down behind his, Ruby repeated the motion with more force, just to hear another moan and feel Sam's stuttering hips seeking her out.

* * *

"Gnnnnh...!" Sam grunted when the first finger entered him. It didn't hurt, and neither did the second finger: they were nothing compared to Dean's rock hard and thick cock. This fact didn't stop him from moaning and squirming, begging for more with his body.

Ruby seemed to catch on, though. She dropped the vibrator, which made him flinch when it touched his skin and gave him a brief impression of the buzzing that he would soon feel on the inside. Hissing, Sam shuddered again when cold slick was rubbed on his entrance and in it as well: his greedy hole seemed to suck her finger in when she slathered the slippery substance all over the twitching rim. He groaned, but despite all the noises he made he didn't miss her reference to Dean in him earlier.

Thank goodness, the demon didn't linger but went on to business. Red hot lava was pulsing through Sam's veins when she pressed the pulsating phallus against his entrance. Even on a lower setting, the vibrations resonated from his involuntarily tightening ring muscle to his perineum and balls, creating the weirdest sensation he'd felt in a long time.

The more she pressed, the more he tensed. It was the only means for him to not become immediately overwhelmed by the stimulation: Ruby's promise that it would be like nothing he'd ever felt was already fulfilled. However, her voice cut through his screaming nerve endings and he knew he had to obey her command. Very gradually, he forced himself to relax, and was rewarded with the push-pull of being fucked on top of the vibrations increasing in strength once the device drove deeper into his body.

Sam clenched his hands into fists as Ruby urged her toy forward, on the brink of losing it, and struggling to not blow his wad. It felt so wrong – and so incredibly good at the same time. His whole body tensed up again when she continued to explore him until the strain on his muscles made him start to shake and he had difficulty breathing. This... he _hated_ it, and yet he needed it so much!

Ruby did something with her hand, and Sam bucked wildly, his spine curving even before the white hot pleasure zinged out from his inner gland. He let out a hoarse cry as she repeated the motion, jabbing the vibrator hard against the spot, intent to use him till he came apart. She wouldn't have to wait long. The prodding in combination with the vibration was already too much, making his eyes water, but at the same time it wasn't quite enough yet.

Sam pushed his hips back as hard as he could while Ruby applied more force and picked up her speed. Her thrusts were bordering on painful now, but he still needed more.

"Ruby, god, please, more...!" Sam howled. "Gonna die if you don't give me more!"

* * *

"Take it, Sam... You hate it, but you love it." The same conviction was being screamed into her brain and Ruby was happy to provide the delightful conflict. Nudging – okay, shoving, sometimes she didn't know her own strength – Sam onto his front, Ruby planted her knees between Sam's. She gripped the base of the vibrator tightly, flicked the button to the highest speed, and pushed it into him, no, she fucked him with her dick. Ruby didn't think she'd ever felt so intoxicated in any of her lives – not even torture gave her this kind of high. 

One hand braced on his hip, she slid the phallic toy in and out, rubbing his prostate while Sam tossed his hair and sweated and shivered. At the same time, she ground her mound against the side of his hip. Her meat-suit was on the verge of giving up the main show to satisfy itself; mentally, Ruby clamped down control over the body and continued to ravish Sam as well as she could. "Like my dick, huh?" she grunted. Rhetorical question – he was practically crying and Ruby didn't give a fuck why. "Gonna come for me...?" Other than him inside her while they both got off, making him do it, under her, like this gave the best rush. With her blood thundering through him, every one of Sam's thoughts and feelings were open to her... And even now the fucker was thinking about Dean. Growling, Ruby lifted her hand off his hip and brought it down hard, satisfied with the stinging of her palm and the bright red print in the center of Sam's left buttcheek. 

* * *

For once, Sam was glad that he was too out of it to speak. When Ruby told him to take it, and that he hated and loved it, she said words he'd rather have bit his tongue off than uttering, but if he wasn't so busy grunting and squirming, he'd have uttered them nevertheless.

As it was, he went from the single howl to continuous cries when she pushed him onto his front. His dick was chafing against the sheets, already sore but still desperate for more friction. And on the other side, Ruby was giving his ass a _real_ work-up, pressing in the artificial phallus deep and hard while running it on its highest setting.

He was so close! Sam wondered if he'd ever needed to cum so badly before – he didn't _want_ to, but he _had_ to. It was what always happened when he was with Ruby and as much as he hated it, he was, to his utter shame, fully aware that he'd do anything to have her get him off. Most of his shame was because it was the ultimate betrayal of Dean: not only did Sam willingly offer his body to the demon, but he also imagined that it was Dean giving him the hottest fuck in a lifetime.

_And Ruby knew it!_

And she acted accordingly. Sam didn't have to ask when he heard a sudden slapping sound that was followed by a sharp burn on his ass cheek only a second later. Yet another second later, his face was burning almost as bad when he remembered the one time Dean had spanked him when he was a teen.

It was that memory that shoved him over the edge, and he screamed and writhed more during the final ascent, pushing his ass up until the tip of his dick pressed against the sheet in a way that his tiny slit was blocked. The pressure in his ass and his crown rose until it reached infinity and he let go with another long wailing scream, his balls and hole spasming violently, his balls forcing out fluid that shouldn't have been there after cumming so many times already, and that burned when it found its way through the clogged and sore tubes and ducts.

Something felt weird – but this whole encounter was weird, and Sam's brain was fried, so he just closed his eyes and let the swirling black vortex of unconsciousness claim him.

* * *

A red flush from his neck to the mid-point of his back followed on the heels of the lurch of Sam's body, and his mindless cry. Ruby spanked him again, and pushed the vibrator deeper. She hardly needed to do anything but hold it still – Sam writhed and humped and fucked himself on it, desperate to get off. He came so hard Ruby could hear the spurts hitting the sheets, even over his noisy carrying on, could feel the fluttering, squeezing spasms of his stretched sphincter in the resistance to the in-out thrusts. 

When it was all over, Sam went slack and collapsed onto his front in the puddle of his own spend, thighs spread and ass up. Even without his muscles all tensed, he was still impressive. It was then that Ruby realized she was no longer holding on to her precious, vibrating dick, though she could hear its hum, faintly. Maybe the extra long-life batteries were finally out of juice. Tilting her heard further down, she gasped in shock. And then she burst out into snorts of laughter. 'Hungry baby' had been the right impression – Sam's hole, in all it's involuntary, orgasmic peristalsis, had somehow sucked the toy right in. And swallowed it. No way in hell was she fishing it out.

When she was alone, Ruby planned to roll on the ground laughing over that. Sam was going to be pissed as hell! How his body had managed to enclose the entire object, base included, was beyond her comprehension. When the mirth faded, she'd find some low-level bottom-feeder to take the edge off her raging-bitch need to be screwed till the body was satisfied for once. Getting real work and surveillance done would be so much easier without the void between the thing's legs forever trying to take over. 

Quietly, Ruby gathered up her things from the carpeted floor and dressed, not even bothering with shoes. Then she slipped out of the motel room door, into her car, and squealed out of the parking lot. As much as a beige, mid-sized sedan could squeal its tires...

* * *

The one called Dave put up nothing of a fight or whatsoever – what a douchebag! He had long forgotten what his name had been when he was still human, so he was happy to take over the guy's name when he smoked in. Hearing Dean call out to him initiated an interesting reaction in the meatsuit in so far that 'Dave' grew erect almost immediately – and to an impressive level, as he had to admit. He smiled. This could turn out to be fun in addition to the duty demanded by the bitch Ruby.

"I'm in the back," he made the meatsuit yell. 'Dave' had been inspecting the Impala's struts when Dean arrived, and he was ready to play a little game on his own.

* * *

A raspy voice called out from the back of the shop, and Dean, after checking the progress on the repairs, followed it. So far, Dave had put the Impala up on a jack and begun to remove the snapped and twisted parts. Better than nothing, but Dean could have done that and been almost done with the repair, if he'd been doing the work. But, he supposed the lack of proper parts was part of it. If Dave had disappeared into the murky depths to jimmy a faster solution, he'd gratefully help with welding or just handing the guy tools. 

As he approached, Dave turned around and Dean questioned him about everything. Somewhere between removing the tire and a perusal of the pieces of steel sitting around or hanging from hooks in two walls, Dean noticed the dude was packing. As in wood. As in, really fucking big wood. Had it been Sam greeting him with a massive boner, Dean would tease or be all over him or both. Of course, inexplicably getting hard happened, it was part of being a male. This stranger advertising, like, posing with it, almost, made Dean really uncomfortable. So he did what he did best: ignored it and kept his eyes at neck level and up. 

* * *

Dean played hard to get, but Dave – or rather he who was acting as Dave now – knew that the older Winchester rarely objected to a roll in the hay. Maybe he should have chosen a female meatsuit – one with at least C cups – but those weren't often found in car repairs. Then again, Dean Winchester's inclination toward hot women was only rivaled by his desire for his bratty little brother – whom the boss was taking care of – and his car. He had to admit that the car was a babe. Maybe it could be used as a means into the man's pants.

"I'm waiting for parts," he announced, mirroring Winchester's stance and keeping his eyes on his face. "This will take a couple hours even though I'm ready to improvise – which is a sin, really," he let his hand trail over the Impala's hood.

"Meanwhile, since you're here, do you want to make the best out of it and give her a once-over? I'm happy to lend a hand," he leered.

* * *

Well, that was a proposition if Dean ever heard one. He might have even considered it if the mechanic were a hot chick, but _he_ was anything but. Okay, the passing resemblance to Ash was a little disconcerting. He wasn't Sam. Whatever their problems during this period of adjustment or whatever he and his brother were going through, no one else was good enough. The dude's proprietary touch to Baby's sleek finish didn't make him happy, either. If she were human, he'd have punched Dave. Tight-lipped, Dean bypassed all that in favor of the guy's offer to let him have shop time to give Baby a once-over. At least that was something. For that, he could be civil. He popped the hood and propped it up.

"Yeah, sure, that'd be cool. My brother's been taking care of her while I've been... away. I taught him some stuff, but he really isn't too knowledgeable about cars." Dean helped himself to a couple of wrenches he might need eventually, and an oil-stained rag, and proceeded to Baby's front end. The first thing he did was check the oil, pulling the dipstick and holding it up in the low light. It didn't look too black, but he wiped it off, re-inserted it, and pulled it again. 

* * *

Dave watched his target check the oil. The man's restraint was remarkable, which made the desire to corrupt him even stronger. He nodded to himself. Neither of the Winchesters could be possessed, but he knew from Ruby that they weren't immune to sexual stimuli. 

There were, of course, limits to the body he was currently inhabitating, but Dave had to hide a satisfied smirk when he stepped closer to the hunter and bathed him in a pheromone cloud. Surely Dean could be confused by the strong male body emitting the essence of a ripe – in the sense of fertile – and needy virgin.

He could see the man blink twice. The first step had apparently been successful. Dave smiled at him and took the dipstick from unresisting hands, then slid it in and out suggestively, delighted at the wide green eyes following the motion and the way Dean's Adam's apple jumped when he swallowed hard. Other than that, Dean didn't show a reaction. Dave shrugged it off: trying to get in the man's pants was nothing more than his idea of a good time while Ruby went to work on the little brother.

The situation changed, however, when his fellow demon broadcast to him that he had to keep Dean busy for a little longer. Dave suppressed a curse. From what he'd observed so far, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that his charge would put out. That left the car, of course, but there was only so much in terms of maintenance he could offer to spend the time since she was in prime shape. 

Expect for the busted suspension of course. Now, there was a thought. Dave had lied to Dean about the spare parts having to be shipped in from Omaha. He had basically all the parts needed, but Ruby had made it clear that she wanted some alone time with Sam. Maybe the only way to keep Dean from rushing off to his brother was to 'fess up and suggest they could jerry-rig the suspension with something from the back of his store.

"I was wondering," he said as he approached Winchester, careful not to get too close to the guy who had obvious issues with personal space. "You seem to have a real good hand with cars. Since you're in so much of a hurry, maybe I could indeed fix her quicker if you could give me a hand?"

* * *

The glare at least kept the dude from coming any closer. Dean snatched at the chance to help with the repairs – he couldn't wait to get hands-on with Baby and the lack of a shop grunt presented the perfect excuse. Ignoring how Dave's wording pinged a warning that some part of what he'd said was untrue, plus, the mechanic was talking down to him, Dean straightened up to full height. "Sure. You're gonna give me a good break on the per hour, right?" Formally untrained or not, he knew his car, took care of her every need, as well as he knew and loved his brother's body, and had for longer. But Dave didn't need to know any of that. 

"I'll finish the 30-point inspection under the hood here... holler when you need me," Dean concluded. He puttered around with the radiator cap, making sure the seal was perfect. Dave should be able to handle removing the broken parts, although Baby's rims were heavy-duty and if there was any problem with the axle... "Don't take any risks with her, she's my baby," he added. 

* * *

Dave decided to amuse his customer. He'd already jacked up the car, so he removed the wheel, then the tire rod and ball joints, before undoing the bolts that held the strut in place. The thing came off nicely, and it was busted, just as Dean had diagnosed. Dave didn't like the look of the spring either, so both had to be replaced. He wondered briefly what these two guys had done with the car to ruin the suspension system in such a spectacular fashion, but his job was only to keep the client busy.

"Here, take a look at this," Dave addressed Dean. "It might be a good idea to check out the other side, too. What the hell have you two been doing with this poor jewel?"

* * *

Dave shut up and let Dean putter in peace while he worked on removing the wheel assembly and the broken pieces. As it turned out, Sam had done a good job with the basics. Other than tightening the wing nut on the air filter cover and brushing the start of a little corrosion off the battery cables, there was nothing for him to do. Dave was busy, having to get up and lie back down on his rolling dolly several times to get the parts out of the way. Like it or not – mostly not – Dean had to admire the economy of Dave's movements and his obvious strength in handling the metal parts and tools. Any part that Dean himself had installed wasn't going to come out easily, unless it was meant to. Once that was finished, he called Dean over for a closer look. 

"It wouldn't hurt to check the other side," Dean had to agree. "The shocks didn't feel right. I was... away for a while, and my brother drove her then, like I said before." As he walked around Baby's back end, trailing his hand over the trunk, the guy's words filtered in, insinuating rough treatment of his 'jewel'. Did Dave sense he and Sam were together? Was he suggesting that the two of them getting it on in the car had broken her, or contributed? He could hardly spout off the first thing that came to mind, that they'd been running like hell away from a vamp nest and before that, they'd been running like hell from a nutso quack. 

"What exactly do you mean, doing with her?" he demanded. 

* * *

Dave shrugged. "Nothing personally," he said. "It takes some pretty bad driving to mangle the struts like that _and_ nix the spring. Just saying. Oh, and I don't think the puddle in the back seat has anything to do with it."

He grinned. "I'd say that's from two days ago. You need another round there, boy?"

* * *

"Wha-?" Dean's mouth hung open. "Puddle? That sure as hell isn't mine." He couldn't very well accuse Dave, who they'd just met this morning. It wasn't Sammy, he very well knew. Who the hell...? Then he knew: the only 'people' who'd had access to the car while he and Sam weren't around and it wasn't locked were the vampire-cops. Could the undead even cum? Apparently so. They'd been collecting boy-toys for their harem after all. Dean felt sick. He'd have to clean up crusty vamp-spooge. But leaving Baby desecrated was unthinkable. 

"Some local kids must've had a hot date last night," he concluded as casually as possible. Instead, he was thinking about the roadside adventures of their captors. The blond one had been kinds hot, in an underfed, anemic, twinky sort of... WTF?! "Gross, but I'd better deal with it before it stains. Got any good leather cleaner?" Dean inquired. Dammit, now he was reminded of years ago when Sam had tried to buy him some to remedy their own backseat jizz-puddle. It had ended in one of the worst days of their lives, but before that... He turned away and opened the back door, putting it between himself and Dave as a shield before the man could notice the bulge behind his fly. 

* * *

"Not yours?" Dave purred and leaned in suggestively. The man was gorgeous and Ruby hadn't communicated that she was done with her toy, which meant that there was ample time for some fun with his client. Dave's eyebrows shot up at the impressive bulge in Dean's pants, but Dean snuck away and put the car between them before Dave had a chance to get any closer.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to make his offer even clearer. Ambling over to meet Dean on the Impala's other side, Dave handed him a clean cloth. He held out a bottle of leather conditioner, and when Dean reached for it, Dave spurted a measure of the milky fluid on the offending spot on the back seat. He grinned at Dean and asked innocently, "Are you sure that's all I can do for you?" He added another squirt.

* * *

Dave's come-on left nothing to the imagination, nothing at all. Dean watched and listened, transfixed, as milky shots of leather cleaner spattered onto the unmistakable dried spunk. Damn his fair skin! A blush slowly crept up his neck and face, like some kid who'd just come too soon, his first time with a girl. Why the persistent boner raged harder at the suggestive spurting, Dean couldn't say. He and Sam had had enough sex in the past 12 hours to keep most men his age out of commission for days. Not him. He sent reproachful messages to his dick, which wasn't listening in the slightest. 

A lot of men had hit on Dean in his life. There'd been times he'd had to go along with the typically awkward, too-blatant pick-up lines, in the interest of rent or food money. Likewise, he'd had to learn early how to brush men – older, bigger, stronger – off if ignoring it didn't work. The next line, punching the guy, wasn't really an option. To a degree, Dean and by extension Sam were at Dave's mercy until the repairs were finished. So he laughed weakly and answered, "Yah, I got it. Fixing that strut is gonna take some time – no use wasting yours on this yech." He wrinkled his nose for emphasis and tried not to think about the times he'd purposefully left a similar mess, though in all fairness, he cleaned it up as soon as he'd recovered his senses. For now, since Dave was on the other side of the car, Dean bent his head to his task and remained bent at the waist, chest slightly lower than his butt to keep Dave from staring at his fly. He was grateful for the excuse, and also to not be too close to the mechanic in that vulnerable position. 

* * *

Dave was beginning to enjoy this game more and more. Dean pretended so hard not to notice the propositions, yet he couldn't hide the physical evidence of his arousal. 

"You're not wasting my time," Dave said amiably. "Remember that we need the spare parts before I can fix the strut. As for wasting time on the yech," he pointed his chin toward the mess that Dean was slowly but successfully cleaning up, "we wouldn't have to waste time on new yech if I blew you."

* * *

"Uh..." Dean's brain short-circuited. What was going on? Why was his body responding to this... this hick? The traitor between his legs lurched and he had to adjust himself in a hurry. Any second, he was going to leak, he could feel the first small pearl of moisture inching its way up the inner tube. 

"Well... What do you want for that? Fifty bucks? I don't pay," Dean retorted, stalling for time. The dude had a mullet, from hell, but he also possessed a pair of pale pink lips. Pale pink, satin-soft like Sam's. He only wanted Sam, not some random hook-up who smelled like engine oil, bacon, and bad Scotch. Huh. Shaking his head, Dean finished the clean-up and reluctantly backed himself out of Baby's cab, closing the door. 

* * *

Finally, he was getting somewhere. "No worries about paying me," Dave said. "I'm only charging you for the car repair and spare parts." He grinned. "I don't even expect you to reciprocate – not that I'll fight you if you intend to return the favor, of course, but my offer doesn't come with a price tag."

He walked around the Impala but kept a distance between himself and Dean. "So, the offer of my mouth stands." Dave licked his lips again. "Unless you'd rather have my ass, of course."

* * *

"Blunt much?" Dean coughed. The repeated offer had his crotch's undivided interest. A rarity in his life, Dean's two brains – upstairs and downstairs – were much at odds. Usually he had no problem controlling his body when his brain said, 'No way.' Had the man drugged him? There could be no roofies involved – Dean was fully aware of every move and word. Dave sauntered closer, eyes giving him the once-over. For no touching, it felt an awful lot like being groped. But Dean couldn't get his feet to back him away. 

"You'd like to wrap your mouth around my piston," Dean palmed himself and cringed at the dialogue he was spouting. "Fine, I can let you, uh, service my engine, I guess." Sweat broke out in the itchy places; a trickle of sticky fluid escaped his slit, the drip seeping into his boxers. Now he had a legitimate excuse to take his pants off – before it looked like he'd cum in them, or more importantly, before he actually did. Dean's eyes widened as his groin's pulsing turned urgent and his hole clenched: one more traitor made itself known.

* * *

"My cylinders are ready to receive your piston," Dave grinned. "You choose which one you wanna try first. I'm sure you have plenty of juice in you to oil all of them."

Dean didn't step back when Dave approached, so he held out his hand and moved Dean's hand away from his crotch. "Very nice," he nodded in appreciation. "Although it looks painful. Whatcha say we free your goods from being strangled?"

* * *

"Sure, your cylinders, your valves, whichever," Dean blurted. Dave moved in, pried his hand away and studied Dean's straining denim-covered erection like a wealthy patron in an art gallery. The second he opened his mouth to speak, the impression was lost. Speaking of opening his mouth... 

"How much juice, well, we'll see, but plenty if you do your job right. Since you offered, and you don't want to miss a drop... On your knees," Dean ordered, unable to see any way out, especially since he'd gone and opened his own smart mouth, too. With Dave kneeling, he could close his eyes, forget what he was doing in this dirty garage and dream about being with Sam. "It doesn't exactly feel good. Yet." 

* * *

"Now, whose fault is that?" Dave shrugged as he knelt down. "I was all for making it good, but you took your time to get with the program." He cocked his head as he reached for Dean's zipper. Sliding it down was quite a feat with the massive erection behind it. 

When he'd pulled it down, he was rewarded with the heady aroma of Dean's arousal. Yes, this was going to be good. "Let's make it better," Dave purred. Slipping the waistband of Dean's boxers down, he immediately deep-throated the thick member. 

Being a demon inside a human body had its advantages in so far that he wasn't concerned about the meatsuit's well-being. He could keep the guy alive even if he'd asphyxiate otherwise, and Dean wouldn't know what hit him. 

Sucking hard and swallowing around the crown lodged deep in his throat, Dave felt the immense power that came with sex coursing through him. Dean's head lolled and he moaned, then stumbled back against the Impala.

Dave let go for a moment. "You wanna sit down or something? 'Cause I haven't even started yet."

* * *

The next few seconds were a blur; Dean felt his jeans being unbuttoned and the zipper being carefully lowered accompanied by cursing over the difficulty of doing that. He was sure that 'massive hard-on' was part of the muttered words, and grinned. He was not a small man but Dave might change his mind if he encountered Sam's equipment. But Dean wouldn't let that happen. Since Dave wanted it so bad, Dean would choke the sonofabitch on his dick and enjoy it. 

Then Dave inhaled him to the root, swallowing around the head in the back of his throat for what had to be over two minutes. Holy shit, could this guy suck a dick! His tongue squiggled everywhere as well, slurping the wildly pulsing, raised veins and poking at Dean's balls. By the time he pulled back for air, Dean's knees were shaking and he was already tightening up, orgasm not far off. When Dave let go of him, Dean reeled backward till he bumped into the car. What a picture he must be, pants open with a violently hard, upright cock bobbing in front of him but otherwise clothed.

"Nah, I'm good, keep sucking," rasped Dean. "And play with my balls." Sitting or lying down would have been easier considering the unsteady state of his legs, but he didn't want memories of this associated with Baby. He complimented Dave grudgingly, "You could suck a baseball through a garden hose. Where the hell did you learn that?" Dean had been pretty good back in the day, though he'd hated it. And well, Sam was a challenge. Perhaps enthusiasm went a long, long way. Hell yeah, it did. His mind melted into mush again as Dave leaned forward to wrap his lips around the deep red, dripping shaft again. The groan echoing from Dean's throat seemed to amplify and fill the entire garage. 

* * *

"Do you want me to explain my technique or should I continue sucking?" Dave grinned up from his position at Dean's feet and snickered. "Thought so. Sucking it is."

He had no intention of telling the other man that being able to read his desires was a great help here. If Dean hadn't shown any sign of sexual interest, Dave wouldn't have bothered with a seduction attempt. While he vacuumed Dean down again and gave him just a tiny hint of teeth, he wondered why the man wouldn't get more comfortable and sit in the car. 

Then it hit him. The car was more than just a car. Dean Winchester's sexuality was somehow intertwined with the Impala. Although Dave couldn't see how he could exploit that fact, it would certainly be valuable information to Ruby. He licked and sucked with even more enthusiasm now, wondering how much the bitch would be willing to pay for this information.

For the moment, however, Dave was having too much fun with his human to think of his superior. Dean wanted his balls fondled, so Dave gave him what he wanted. He wrapped both hands around the almost egg-sized glands and massaged them down a little, so Dean's orgasm would be delayed, then he ran his fingers of one hand over them while holding them gently but firmly in his other, once again relishing the power when the heavy stones tried to draw upward against Dean's body.

Meanwhile, the human's groans took on another quality. It was clear that Dean wanted to cum, but Dave wouldn't let him. Not yet. Dean might think he was in charge because Dave was kneeling, but the real power was Dave's. He wouldn't make Dean beg, he'd just let him strain for release a little longer; the grip on his balls made sure of that.

Dave swallowed again around Dean's corona, and the man's knees buckled for a second. He chuckled deep in his throat, which made Dean groan again. 

_Getting there, buddy, getting there..._

* * *

Talk or suck? Some question. "Shut up!" Dean hissed, he wound his fingers into the long strands at the back of the dirt-blond mullet and tugged, jabbing his hips against Dave's face. The man handled Dean's balls just right, just like he'd do it himself, holding the aching glands down to prolong the climb. They were getting all slick with the spit drooling from the sides of Dave's suctioning mouth. Filthy gasps escaped Dean with every scrape of teeth, and at the intermittent tugs at his sac. Whenever he thought he'd teeter over the edge and cum, Dave would let up a fraction, till the next bout of face-humping. 

How his body kept producing more slick, more 'stuff', baffled Dean, but that bucket-load of jizz needed out! Dave didn't seem to mind the punishment, and Dean rode his throat, the tight orifice squeezing his glans and frenulum till he thought he'd scream. Pressurized in the inner ducts, which started to vibrate then spasm, the flood burst its dam. "Now," he grunted a warning, which turned to a muted howl as the first powerful spurt of white wrung Dean inside out. 

* * *

Dave continued to suck and slurp. Dean tasted great, and how on earth could the guy produce so much fluids anyway? The reaction to having his balls fondled was more than Dave would have expected, and he was glad that Dean had explicitly requested the treatment. Palming the swollen glands in one hand and tugging them gently down again, he used his free hand to push Dean's jeans and boxers down to his knees, which gave him even better access.

He cupped Dean's balls and rubbed his thumbs over the smooth surface, exploring the structure underneath the tight skin that became more pronounced the closer Dean got to his release. Dave knew that there was a point for every man where over-stimulation led to not being able to let go at all, and he didn't want to risk reaching that point with Dean.

So when Dean, who'd more or less remained passive and let Dave do all the work, began to fuck his mouth hard and then harder, Dave decided that it was time for the next step. Dean was leaking so much that Dave's fingers were coated in a mixture of drool and pre-cum. When the first spurt of semen hit the back of Dave's throat, Dave quickly slipped a well-anointed finger up Dean's crack and deep into his contracting hole. 

Even though he was distracted by the meatsuit's sudden insisting that it wanted to insert more than a finger inside Dean's hidden entrance, Dave found the man's prostate immediately and stroked it gently while Dean's dick pumped out all he had to give.

* * *

Just when Dean hit the height of his climax, when he was at his most vulnerable – unable to stop and nowhere near done – Dave's finger searched behind his balls and invaded. "No... No... No..." Dean protested but could do nothing in self-defense, everything was too slick and Dave knew exactly what he was aiming for. The second Dave touched his prostate, Dean bellowed and loosed another flood, his entire body jerking, thrusting, trying to spread his thighs, trapped in his jeans. His hole clenched against the violation but it only heightened the pressure, and he wanted... "Moooorrrre," Dean groaned. 

* * *

Dave felt tempted to pull off and soothe the man with words, but even though he was a demon, he thought it would have been too cruel to interrupt Dean's pleasure. Also, it would deprive him from the bursts of energy he got from making Dean cum.

Not sure what to do when Dean demanded 'more', Dave added a second finger, but his instincts told him that what Dean really wanted was his brother. Too bad that, according to Ruby's latest 'broadcast', Sam was really busy right now, in this very moment. Judging from the crazed laughter he got from the bitch, something was happening that he'd rather not find out while still with Dean, so Dave gave the quivering balls in his hand a deft squeeze while sucking down hard a final time.

The meatsuit surprised him with a hot flush of desire; apparently, the 'real' Dave wanted a piece of the action, too. Dave could relate. If it were up to him, he'd bend Dean over the hood of his oh-so-precious car and tear him apart with the meatsuit's rather impressive equipment. However, his orders were different, so Dave pulled off reluctantly after milking Dean dry.

"Good enough?" he smirked.

* * *

A second finger breached him and the dual attack nearly brought Dean to his knees. Another spurt released from the depths of him, filling Dave's mouth till he swallowed it down. Only a clawed grip on Dave's shoulder kept him upright. After a final heave from his overtaxed ductwork, it was over and Dean found himself shaking and disgusted at his behavior. Wrenching himself free, he yanked up his boxers. This wasn't going to do. Sam would be able to smell it on him, he remembered with exquisite clarity that time with Ash, and Sam had been half-dead. While Dave had – skillfully – swallowed his load, Dean was still more than damp at the crotch from all that drool. 

"Uh, yeah. Good enough." It wasn't the mechanic's fault, technically speaking, that Dean couldn't keep it in his pants. A glance down told him the guy probably was aching from blueballs about now. Not his intent, but he'd caused it, none the less. "You got a restroom in this place?" He would change underwear, and then the least he could do was offer something in return. He shouldn't have given in to start with but Dean wasn't the type to take and not reciprocate. "I could get you off. Like a hand-job, say?"

* * *

"Yep, got a restroom back," Dave nodded. Dean had pulled his boxers back up before Dave was even standing again. It was clear that the man wasn't happy, and Dave had to admire him for offering a hand-job. Maybe it was something like honor among men, a concept neither he nor any demon he knew could relate to. It didn't mean he was going to refuse the offer, though. Dean would give up more of himself by touching Dave, and although Dean's seed had already given him an incredible power surge, Dave could never get enough of that.

"I won't say no if you're offering," he grinned widely. "But I guess you might wanna freshen up first."

* * *

"Let's take care of _that_ right away," Dean countered with a slight smirk. "I'll just get messy again." That should be enough to hook the man, if the tent in the front of his jeans wasn't already. Dave climbed to his feet, eager look keener than before. Turning aside, Dean went through his clothes duffel, which was tossed on the floorboard of Baby's back seat, and came up with a new pair of boxers from the Walmart pack that he'd purchased just days before, and stuffed them in his jacket pocket. 

There were other doors in the back of the shop. Dave didn't stop him, so Dean pulled the first one open. Not especially clean but he'd seen worse, the square restroom contained what appeared to be a working sink and toilet and that was good enough. He stepped in and a second later Dave crowded in behind him. In respect to his ability to bring another man – one with a definite need to get off – to completion, Dean had no worries. He only hoped he could finish and get himself in order before Sam wandered in. And then, Baby was out there, yet to be fixed. 

"Facing, or facing away?" Dean asked, resigned to his task. 

* * *

"Hey," Dave held his hands up when they were in the cubicle that served as restroom of the garage. "You know you don't have to," he coughed, "reciprocate or whatever. This was fun for me, so if you'd rather not do anything, just gimme a sec in here."

The look on Dean's face didn't reveal anything, but Dave knew from Ruby that this one had deep guilt issues. He'd feel guilty for not 'helping' Dave out, and he'd feel even guiltier for betraying his brother. The sweet taste of a human soul in deep anguish filled him as he waited for Dean's response.

* * *

Dean raised his eyebrows. When it had been himself being propositioned, Dave had pursued access to his body, however limited, relentlessly. And now he was going to be all solicitous? Something struck him as 'off' again. Unless the dude was such a, what was the word, masochist, that he enjoyed the pain of being held in check indefinitely. Dean shrugged, down to one idea. "Your call, man. I'm not gonna force you. You want to, um, whack it for me? If so, whip it out. If not, get out." 

His voice went dark and harsh. If Dave didn't want to beat off while he watched or present any other useful ideas, Dean was of a mind to just knock him out, attend to the repairs himself and be done with this shit. It filtered into his brain that the mechanic _liked_ his reluctance, which stemmed from his guilty conscience over going out on Sam, which made Dean sick. He hadn't felt that since he was too young to defy his Dad about his 'second' job as a teenaged hustler. Glaring, Dean decided the world at large had about three seconds before his rage erupted. Other than last night with Sammy, and his gut twisted as he remembered the long-awaited reunion, everything since he'd been jettisoned out of the Pit had been one cluster-fuck after another and he was just done.

* * *

"Whoa, boy," Dave raised his hands again. "Just trying to be nice here, but if you don't wanna play, I'll wait outside." He turned, muttering that "some guys turn into bitches, post-orgasm," then slammed the door behind him.

He couldn't be more unconcerned about the meatsuit suffering from blueballs. When Ruby broadcast that she'd finished with her human, he wasn't reluctant to smoke out and leave Dave's body behind. Let Dave have fun explaining to Dean why he'd been so keen on sucking his customer off. 

Dave's unconscious body fell to the ground just as Dean opened the door. 

* * *

Muttering to himself, Dave turned on his heel and slammed out of the restroom. Dean sighed in relief. He turned on the water in the sink, washed his hands, splashed water on his face. After drying his hands, he leaned heavily against the dirty white porcelain basin, studying his dim reflection in the mirror hung above it. This was the man who'd made a deal with a crossroads demon for his soul, to save his brother. The man who'd been ripped to shreds and dragged to Hell by hellhounds. Who'd spent forty years there, some of that torturing other souls to spare himself. Dean couldn't imagine a time when that wouldn't eat him alive. And this... This was the man who'd come back, god knew how, only to deeply wound his brother and partner, then found a way for them to be together again, and now... now he'd gone and let some random stranger at him. If they'd had full-on sex, Dean knew he'd probably blow his brains out now, other than Sam deserved that privilege if he wanted it. This man – Dean could spit – with his stupid girly eyelashes and wide eyes and _cocksucking lips_ who people had stared at and desired his whole life and why? Inside, he was so damned hideous, like the real face of a demon under their meatsuit that the doomed and the gifted could see. Why couldn't he have been scarred on his face? He ate like a pig most of the time – why wasn't he fat as one or dead of heart failure? It was a fucking curse. Other than, and he let out another long shuddering breath, that Sammy wanted him. But Sam had known him his whole life. 

'Man up, Dean!' he told himself. He didn't have the luxury of PMS-ing when there was work to do. Quickly, Dean stripped from the waist down and put on the fresh boxers, then pulled himself together. He wasn't letting that guy near him again, any nearer than necessary to take care of Baby. 

Stepping out of the little box of a room, Dean raised his eyebrows over the heap that was Dave on the floor nearby. He crouched to verify a pulse and breathing, which were present. It wasn't cold enough that there'd be an issue with freezing, although the floor was chill. Shrugging, he decided to let sleeping dogs lie, so to speak, and after stowing the used boxers in his bag, found tools and went to work on the Impala. 

* * *

It was cold and his head hurt like a motherfucker when Dave opened his eyes. It took his muddled brain a minute to recognize his surroundings. Why was he lying on the cement floor of his workshop? And what was the stranger doing with the car – a '67 Impala, a beauty that he couldn't remember bringing in? 

He tried to sort his thoughts. Had he been drinking last night? That was always a possibility, but people here looked after each other, and his buddies would have given him a lift home or called him a cab. Besides, the headache didn't feel like any hangover he'd ever experienced, and his stomach wasn't queasy, so what the fuck had happened?

"Yo," he called out, annoyed that his voice came out so weak. And he had the most god-awful taste in his mouth, too, as he noticed belatedly. "What are you doing in my garage?"

* * *

Maybe twenty minutes later, Dean heard noises from where Dave had dropped and not moved since. Not happy that the man hadn't stayed down for the count till he could get the hell out of there, Dean pulled himself from under Baby's fender and prepared to defend himself. Who knew what sort of mood the mechanic would be in now. 

Dave groaned, presumably from pain, sat up, and scrubbing his hand over his stubbly face, demanded to know when Baby had come to rest in his shop, and what Dean thought he was doing there. Not approaching, Dean called out, "Short version? I'm Dean, I got in first thing this morning, you were fixing my car's broken strut and whatever else. Since you dropped like a stone half hour ago, I decided to finish myself." 

He could admit it sounded fishy, like he was trying to rip off the place. "You gave me some bullshit story earlier about ordering parts, but we were making do." With no idea of how or even why to broach their 'encounter', Dean skated past it. "Then I went to take a leak and when I came out, you were lying there. Don't worry, I checked that you were breathing." 

* * *

"Wait, wait, man, hang on a sec," Dave groaned as he struggled to get up. Maybe he'd hit his head in a fall. That would explain not only his headache and the dizziness but also the memory loss he was obviously suffering from.

"Sorry, man, but I dunno what you're talking about. I'm pretty sure I wasn't fixing any broken struts, and why would I tell you about ordering parts? There isn't a place anywhere near where you could find original parts for a '67 Impala – unless you wanted to hang out and wait for like a week. I could rig something that'll get you back on the road, but," he groaned again as he finally managed to stand, "seriously, I'd need a hand. No idea what happened, but I must have hit my head pretty hard, can't remember a thing, and I don't wanna screw up that sweet ride of yours."

* * *

Through he hadn't been hit in the head, other than possibly when he fell, Dave was apparently suffering from amnesia. Dean tried to keep his face composed. There was no use arguing, he just wanted to get Baby fixed. "Yeah, tell me about it," he huffed. "This really is the middle of nowhere. I can help you jimmy whatever you can, no problem with that. We already got all the broken parts off, and I was starting on the repairs, myself." He reached back to touch the Impala's door. 

Dave heaved himself upright. His words rang true, this time, a far cry from whatever BS he'd been talking before. Dean supposed he could have a mental issue, like multiple-personality disorder, or maybe he'd been... possessed. That had to be it! He hadn't thought of it before because he didn't know the 'real' Dave and there'd been no manifestation of black eyes. Ruby possessed bodies, she'd slid into the waitress at the diner for a hot minute. If she'd been wearing Dave when they'd... when he'd... No way would she keep her trap shut to Sam, it would bring her a lot of joy to hurt him like that. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dean found his flask, quickly uncapped it, then strode over to Dave and splashed holy water in his face. 

* * *

"What the...?" Dave shouted when the stranger suddenly splashed him with... water. A minute ago, the guy had agreed to help Dave fix the car, and then he soaked him instead. "What are you, three years old?"

He reached for a rag and wiped his face, then took another look at the man. Despite his weird behavior, he looked normal – but weren't those the most dangerous psycho sick fucks?

Dave made sure to keep his distance. "Listen," he said in a calm voice, "for whatever reason, I'm out of the loop and I'd really appreciate if you told me what happened here. Otherwise, you'll understand if I call the cops."

Now that he'd said it, Dave wondered if that wasn't the smart thing to do, but he decided to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. If he gave an explanation, why bother the police, and if he didn't, Dave thought he'd still somehow make a call and get help.

* * *

If the mechanic caused him any more trouble, Dean would knock him out again, but he didn't wish Dave actual harm so he decided to give explaining one more try. Sam had suffered from a bash to the head recently, and they were no walk in the park. Way out here, even in a speeding car or ambulance, Dean doubted there was medical help beyond first responders within an hour's drive. On the other hand, he and Sam were on the run the way it was. By now the story had likely spread about the mess they'd left behind in the last small town in the form of a beheaded pair of vampires impersonating local police. Any attention to themselves had to be avoided at all costs, and that included Dave's noggin.

Where the hell was Sam, anyway? He'd been gone well over an hour, starting from when he and Dean had parted ways at the diner. If that bitch Ruby hurt him, or corrupted him, or... Dean shoved the thought aside. He had to trust Sam, if not the demon.

Holding his hands up where Dave could see them, Dean ignored the comparison of himself to a three-year-old and stated, keeping his irritation to a dull roar, "My brother and I rolled into town late last night, saw your place on the way in. So here we are, well, me and Baby." He gestured at his prized possession. "Sam had some business in town so that's why he's not here now. It's like I told you before – we got here, you looked at her, you got on the phone and said you were ordering parts. Sam and I left for breakfast. I came back later, we started working on her, you know the rest. No need for cops. I don't know why you passed out, but knocking your head on the cement could explain the Alzheimer's. Probably should see a doctor about that." The ironic part is that if he were the injured one, he'd never follow his own advice. 

It still sounded weird, Dean had to admit. Dave continued to stare at him skeptically. "Look, I'm not gonna rip you off or mess with your place here. I can pay you some up front if you want – I just need my car fixed." 

* * *

What the man said sounded reasonable. Dave nodded – and winced. "I guess I should follow your advice about seeing a doctor," he muttered, but let's take a look at your car first. '67 Impala, right? And she's been looked after, I can tell." He smiled.

"So, since I can't remember ordering parts, I'd better check my records, but as I said, original parts won't be found anywhere near. You wanna wait here? This won't take a second."

Although he was getting a weird vibe from the man, Dave didn't think he was in any danger. The Impala wasn't going anywhere quickly, and there'd have been plenty of opportunity to rob him while he was out cold – which made his stomach clench again. His head was getting a little better, but he should really talk to Doc Robbins later. Besides, if he'd just knocked his head and was otherwise fine, he and the Doc hadn't shared a beer in a long time.

Dave smiled to himself. "Be right back."

* * *

"Yep, '67 Impala," confirmed Dean. He really didn't like the idea of Dave being out of sight for more than a second, but neither did he want to follow the guy around like they were joined at the hip. After a second of indecision, Dean nodded. He'd just have to listen closely, and if there was any sign of trouble, mainly Dave calling the authorities, he'd step in. 

"Okay, I'll wait right here." He leaned against the black surface of Baby's back quarter panel and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

* * *

Dave went to his office to find out about the spare parts he'd supposedly ordered. The first thing he noticed was that his computer was switched on, and the browser was directed to some porn site, bustyasianbeauties.com. He'd never heard of it, and what he saw on the monitor suggested that it didn't need to be added to his bookmarks. 

He turned the thing off and reached for the phone. After hitting redial, he was greeted by a high and slightly accented voice that introduced herself as 'Jin-Song from bustyasianbeauties.com' and offered him heaven on earth. Dave dropped the receiver as if it had tried to bite him. What the fuck? Nothing against porn, but he was an ass man and most Asian chicks didn't have much to offer in that respect.

Scrolling through his outgoing calls, he didn't find the number of a potential supplier for spare parts for a vintage Impala. He wasn't even really surprised although it made him more uncomfortable with the whole situation. Something very fishy was going on here, and the sooner he got rid of his customer, the better. He'd see to the guy's car, then close the shop and pay Doc Robbins a visit, and then, hopefully, never think about this morning again.

"Whatever things you said that I did, ordering replacements for an Impala isn't one of them," Dave announced as he returned to the workshop. "I think I have everything we need here. Might need a little improvising, but we should have her up and running again in no time."

He was tempted to ask the guy if he'd been the one on the computer and phone, but all he wanted was to get him out of the place, and in the end it didn't really matter.

"Since we'll be working together, what's your name?"

* * *

Unable to dismiss the nagging in his head that he needed to keep a close eye on Dave, Dean trailed him on silent feet. The tiny room serving as an office was cluttered, with a file cabinet, metal desk covered in piles of invoices, a coat rack, and miscellaneous boxes and loose parts. There must be another room for storage, Dean decided as he approached the door, standing so he could see in but where Dave couldn't notice him unless he turned completely around. John had liked to take his boys out to Bobby's place sit in one of the rusting junk heaps or in a tree and have his sons practice sneaking up on him. It had taken Dean till he was twelve to learn to offset his bowlegged gait with a kind of sidestep to keep the sound down. By then, he'd had other reasons to learn stealth. 

Speaking of, Dean recognized the background music to his favorite porn website. He couldn't repress a grin. Whatever else he was into, Dave, hunched over the desk with his nose almost touching the computer screen, had good taste in online spank-bank material. Being with Sam had yet to convince Dean not to have the occasional browse through his beloved home-away-from-nonexistent-home. Asian chicks... Most of them were tiny and had asses like ten-year-old boys, attributes Dean loved in a woman. He didn't even care that the 'bustiness' of the girls on the site was almost certainly thanks to silicon, since he was only looking. 

But, after clicking once or twice on the links, Dave shut the computer down. Probably a good choice – the site tended to contain viruses harder to get rid of than herpes. Allegedly. Next, Dave picked up the phone sitting on the desk. After scrolling through the history, he punched the redial button but hung up abruptly, as if the phone had bitten him. As he made to get up, Dean quickly retraced his steps. It was no news to him that there were no Impala parts on order. They'd already established that that part of Dave's morning had been a farce. 

Then Dave asked him for his name, and Dean did a double take. He could understand that anything he'd said before the mechanic had passed out was so much brain mush right now. Some people were bad with faces, others with names, but seriously? "Dude, it's Dean, like I told you five minutes ago." The last thing he needed was a mechanic who was too out of it to get the repairs done right. "Maybe you should just take a knee and I'll work on B-, uh, the car."

He peered at Dave closely. While the guy was a little unsteady yet, a little sweaty, his eyes weren't doing anything weird – the pupils were normal. Dilated, but the lighting wasn't great inside the garage; specifically, dilated to the same size. Dean averted his stare before Dave could think he was coming on to him – he'd had more than enough of _that_ today.

* * *

"Seriously? I don't remember you telling me your name," Dave frowned. Maybe the guy was right that he should step back. A '67 Impala deserved respect, and that included not being handled by a mechanic who couldn't piece together what had happened during the last hour.

"Listen, I'm still not sure what's going on with me, but that's hardly your fault. If you think you're up to fixing her, I'll make you a deal. You pay for the parts you use, but that's it. Just promise me one thing," he met the guy's – Dean's – eyes straight on. "Promise me that you know what you're doing. It'd be a crime to manhandle this beauty otherwise. I'll lend a hand whenever you need it, but, er, don't take this personally, I'll feel better once you're gone and I can try to sort my head out."

* * *

Finally, Dave was talking sense. For him to stay mostly back while assisting with any heavy labor was the best possible course of action. Dean felt like he was throwing him a bone when he said, "I can appreciate a man who knows his limits. Now as far as whether I can handle her..." Dean warmed to one of his favorite subjects, "Not like you know me so I can't make you believe it, but two years ago, an 18-wheeler plowed into her at highway speed. There wasn't anything not busted, interior, exterior, fluids on the ground, engine totally ruined, frame twisted like a pretzel... I rebuilt her from the ground up. Did the body and paint work, too. This car was my dad's before it was mine; I grew up taking care of her – know her like the back of my hand." All that was more than necessary, but Dean wanted to make his point. And just like couples who liked to wax flowery about how they got together, this was part of his and Baby's story. 

"When you came to I'd just finished taking off the broken parts. It's gonna need a new shock besides the strut, and the tire's got a slow leak or something; it's almost flat as you can see so I'll need a replacement or at least a patch if that's doable. Those rims cost me $1200, so it'd better not be bent." If it was, Dean was at least partially to blame and it wasn't Dave's fault at all. 

"So," he dusted off his hands. "Tell me where you keep everything I'm gonna need." 

* * *

Cringing when Dean told him what he'd been through with the Impala before, Dave said, "That must have hurt." It was only then that he realized that he meant the car and not the potential passengers. "I, uh, hope people came out alright... Sorry, man..."

Was it possible to make an already awkward situation even worse? 

"Um, about parts... I keep my spares over there," he nodded toward the door leading to his storage area. "We should find enough useful stuff in there, and if not, we can rig something. As for the tire, the rim looks fine from here, and in the worst case, we can patch it. But let's check what we have first."

Although Dave would never say it out loud, for a small town business, he prided himself on his store. Nobody had ever had to wait for spare parts to be shipped in, but then again, he'd never had a '67 Impala handed to him to look after.

"You gonna join me?" Dave pointed toward the door. 

* * *

"It was a rough time, thanks, man," was about all Dean could come up with in reference to the somewhat stilted apology. Dean couldn't have done any better, beyond the standard, 'I'm sorry for your loss' trained into all law enforcement and medical professionals. He'd faked that enough times. "Good as new now," he added. "Her and me, well, other than this minor glitch." Good as new, Dean's ass. He should have died from complications following the accident; he'd only dodged his reaper at the last second thanks to his Dad making a deal with a demon that he never should have made. Despite John having escaped Hell months later, his spirit finally making peace with his sons and passing on, it still haunted Dean, how his father and brother had walked away scratched and bruised and one broken arm, and he'd been crushed like a fragile china cup. From Tessa's hints, he'd been meant to go to Heaven then, if such a place really existed. Instead, because he couldn't stand to be alone in the world, he'd made his own deal and gone the opposite direction, kicking and screaming and bleeding.

And now here he was, back again.

"Lead the way." Dean shook it off and followed Dave into his storage room, a long, narrow corridor of a room the length of the building with floor-to-ceiling shelves loaded with various-sized boxes along one wall, used parts of all sorts hanging from hooks and pegs opposite. He let out a low whistle. "Nice inventory. Not bad for a small town. People oughta be calling _you_ for parts." It may have come out semi-sarcastic but Dean meant it. "So, if you don't have Impala parts, what do you have for late-sixties Chevies, in general?"

* * *

Dave couldn't suppress a grin when Dean complimented him. It never hurt to hear it confirmed from others that his place was well stocked, especially from someone who really knew his way around cars. "Thanks," he said. "I like to think so, too. As for Chevies, late sixties, I actually have some stuff because a few of the older guys around here hang on to their slightly younger but still aged rides. Not Impalas, mind, but there should be something useful." 

He led Dean to a section of shelves. "Knock yourself out," he said, his grin widening along with his customer's eyes.

* * *

At the permission to raid the well-stocked shelves, Dean walked up and down the row and ran his fingers over the various boxes containing possible matches. Dave's system was quite good, well-organized. Before long, he was able to locate the suspension section, further divided by make, model, and year. He knew his face was plastered with a manic smile but he couldn't help it. Over the years, as genuine parts for his Baby became scarcer and more expensive, Dean had learned to improvise. 

"Okay, maybe an early '70's Impala, which you have shocks for, or you've got some Chevelle pieces here. Pontiac is still GM – the Catalina looked a lot like an Impala. I'm going to grab a few things for comparison." He did just that, as much as he could carry, calling back, "If you have any other recommendations, bring 'em." Dean set his selections on the workbench next to the broken, twisted metal he'd extracted from Baby's underside. "Hm... One of our... associates runs a salvage yard. He never has this much to choose from, it's piecemeal." Not to diss Bobby, not at all, but this was an improvement.

"Do you do any welding here? Might need to revise these a bit, to fit." Dean squinted into the dim reaches of the shop. He didn't have much experience with actual metalwork, but he'd try it if need be. Trotting to over the car, he lowered himself to the ground and held up the parts in the area they'd need to go. "Yeah, it's a little long."

* * *

"What the _fuck_...?"

Sam screamed when he opened his eyes. His lower body was twitching madly and before he was even fully awake, his dick pumped out a load of sticky fluids. It took him less than a second to remember that he'd passed out from cumming. With Ruby's vibrator up his ass. Ruby was gone, but she'd left her toy behind. Deeply rooted inside him. Where it was drumming against his prostate like a cattle prod.

He swore at the top of his lungs, but it didn't help the assault on his way oversensitive gland. Oh, he'd kill the bitch. As soon as the batteries were empty. Come on, how long could the thing buzz inside him? It was hard to concentrate with the device stuck inside him, but a glance at the alarm clock on the night stand told him that almost an hour had passed since the demon's suggestion to try out her vibrator or let her peg him. Sam shuddered. Why had he opted for the vibrator – then again, why had he let her do it all – at least a dildo attached to her body wouldn't have come loose. It was too late now for making up his mind. That's what demons did, after all: fuck with you, figuratively and literally.

Just like his brother had warned him, over and over again.

Dean. Who must never find out what had happened between Sam and Ruby. Only, there was no chance to keep this 'accident' from Dean. Even worse, Dean was the only help Sam could think of. He was, again, figuratively and literally screwed.

Sam's body hadn't stopped spasming when he pulled his cell from his jacket with shaking hands and pressed the button for Dean on speed dial.

* * *

Dean's phone rang while he was still on the cement floor, holding the not-quite-matching pieces level and squinting up at Dave. Not in any shape to jump to his feet yet, he instead set the parts down and rolled to the side to retrieve his phone from his pocket. A glance at the glowing display confirmed: "SAM CALLING". The bitch must have finally cut him loose. Even if she was willing to part with some useful intel, how long could it take? Figured she'd want to play games about it. 

"Hey, Sam. Everything alright?" Dean tried for generic and casual, but the heavy breathing – no, panting – in his ear told him something wasn't alright, not at all. What had Ruby done? "Where are you?" he demanded. 

* * *

"D-d-dean?" Under the pulsing stabs against his sweet spot Sam felt like a man with a pneumatic hammer, only that such a worker wouldn't have been distracted by the growing arousal. "I... _uuung!_ I'm at the motel and I need your... help – _nuuuhh!"_

While he pressed the last word out, his dick started spewing again. 

* * *

"The motel?" Dean repeated. The noises interspersed with Sam's words, those were sex noises. Like the kind forced from low in Sam's chest when Dean had him on his back, deep inside him, the nerve-infused corona ridge along the head of his dick slipping back and forth along that slight notch in Sam's prostate. 

Blood rushed south and Dean curled his legs up to hide his body's reaction. It could be an approaching orgasm, but realistically, those sounds could be pain. Either way, Sam was in trouble. "I'll be right there. Hang tight, Sam." 

Turning to Dave, Dean pressed out, "I gotta run, so I guess that leaves you to do the repairs after all. You gotta loaner I could borrow for a little while? I don't care what it is, as long as it runs." Dean remembered the horrible rusty minivan with its squealing alternator they'd once borrowed from Bobby. Right now, he'd even be grateful for that. If he had to he'd walk – or run – across town, but a ride would be a lot quicker. 

* * *

Dave crouched down next to the Impala while Dean answered his cell. Yup, those springs would have to be shortened. Otherwise they'd carry so much tension that they might even push through the hood. No way was Dave going to let that happen. Mentally running through his stocks, he frowned. There should be a pair of springs in his store rooms that might fit, spare parts from a...

Dean interrupted his thought. Apparently, he'd just received bad news. As if the broken Impala wasn't bad enough. When Dean asked if he could borrow a car, Dave didn't hesitate. Sure, he didn't know the guy, but since he'd be leaving the Impala behind, Dave had no doubt that he'd return whatever car Dave gave him. If he was honest, he might even hope that Dean did _not_ return but just took off with Dave's ride; however, that wouldn't happen. No way was Dean leaving this beauty of a car behind!

"No loaner, but you can have my pick-up. I figure I'll be busy with her," he threw an admiring glance at the Impala, "for at least a couple of hours. Any idea how long you'll be gone?"

* * *

"Not sure. Not long. My brother... I gotta go pick him up," was as far out on a limb as Dean was willing to go. He couldn't say what state he'd find Sam in, but nervousness was already eating at his gut. "I won't be leaving my own ride behind," he added. Though he wasn't being too 'out there' about his admiration, Dean didn't miss Dave's somewhat covetous glances at Baby. Well, he couldn't blame the mechanic. 

"Thanks, man. For the use of your truck. Got the keys?" 

* * *

"No worries, I wasn't thinking you'd leave her behind," Dave said amiably as he fished the car key from his pocket. "You can take my pick-up. Don't worry about me, I still have the tow truck. Um, do you have a number where I can reach you? Just in case I get called away or need lunch. Wait, here's my card if you need to get in touch." He held out the key and card to Dean.

* * *

Shoving himself upright, Dean accepted the keys and business card. "Yeah, I'll write down my number," he tossed back in Dave's direction while crossing the building to the office again. He wrote down his number on a piece of scratch paper, set a mental reminder to himself to change phones soon, and handed the paper over. 

Then he was out, squinting in the morning light. Dave's truck was parked around the side of the garage, sitting unlocked. He crawled in and turned the key; the engine missed once then roared to life. It took less than ten minutes, even going the speed limit, to find the motel again. Dean had to wrack his brain to come up with the correct room number, remembering more by relative distance and triangulation which door was 'theirs'. Sam had had the only key on him. Dean knocked, and waited, his stomach churning again. 

"Sam?" he called out. He knew his brother had to be inside; he'd only just called. "Sammy? It's Dean." Of course it was Dean. Who else? It was his voice, his knock. Then the door flew open and a hand whipped out and yanked Dean into the darkened room by the front of his shirt. He registered Sam's slitted but glittering eyes, and that the room – still – reeked like a brothel. "Why's it stink like pussy in here?"

* * *

Dave watched Dean leave and focused on the Impala. The springs weren't the only part that needed some attention, and he set his mind to it. He still couldn't figure out what had happened during his black-out, but as weird as the guy was, he and Dave had one thing in common: getting this black beauty fixed. Dave couldn't imagine what had pushed that off of the top of Dean's agenda, but it had to be bad. The least he could do for his kindred spirit was take care of the Impala as best as he could and hope that Dean could figure out whatever was going on with his brother.

Five minutes later, he had set up his welding gear and went to work.

* * *

It hadn't taken Dean long to arrive, but Sam had climaxed twice during that time. Or, maybe not climaxed: his body kept pushing out fluids while he writhed and groaned under the by-now really unbearable assault on his prostate.

When the tell-tale knock on the door came, Sam struggled to his feet and walked over – tip-toed, step-danced, whatever, he could barely stand – and opened it. His moves were uncoordinated and jerky because his whole body was twitching, and he grabbed his brother and pulled him inside the room before any casual passer-by could see him.

Dean's eyes narrowed immediately, and his nose picked up the smell of Ruby's sex. Aware that Dean wouldn't believe him, Sam still went for denial. Maybe he could cheat a few seconds before everything came crashing down on him.

"W-what? Pussy?" Sam laughed nervously, hoping that his tense chuckles were loud enough so that Dean wouldn't notice the buzzing sound emanating from inside his ass. "The-there's no... p-pussy in here... why don't you go... check for yourself? M-m-maybe the maid... smelled... _us_ and... got... cravings..." Shit, had he really said something that stupid? His brain was totally fried.

His body prepared for another surge of semen, and Sam was shaking while Dean looked at him incredulously. "Wh-what?" he gasped, trying to choke down a moan. "Why are you – nuuhhh! – looking at mm-mmhh-mmhheee..."

It was useless. Sam scrunched his eyes shut and prepared for the imminent disaster.

* * *

His brother denied it, but the distinct, familiar, ripe-woman scent stuck in Dean's nostrils. Male pheromones overwhelmed it the closer he got to his brother, though. Sam's skin was smeared in semen and other drying fluids. A weird hum, like a buzz, filled Dean's ears as he concentrated on Sam's symptoms. At first, he thought it was because of the level of pissed off he was about Sam probably having had sex with Ruby and _lying_ about it. Then he realized the hum wasn't fading. 

Besides being naked, Sam wasn't walking right; his entire body jittered; his dick stood straight out, more than semi-hard, deep red and leaking whitish droplets. Face and chest flushed, Sam was sweating more profusely than normal. The second the door slammed shut behind Dean, Sam threw himself down on the bed, all too obviously about to come again. He writhed in the sheets, moaning, bitching about Dean gawping at him. Which he was. Sam didn't look like he was having fun – more like he was in serious pain. And he mentioned cravings. The word jogged Dean's memories of a certain hunt a couple years back in South Carolina. Did Ruby have a snake monster on a leash? He didn't put it past her. A closer examination revealed no trace of its disgusting aphrodisiac slime, though. 

Dean didn't have time to ask questions or puzzle it out. He plopped down next to Sam on the bed, awkwardly trying to soothe him with a hand on his shoulder. Soothing wasn't what Sam needed. With a piteous cry, he pumped his hips once, twice, tensed till veins stood out in his neck, and a couple weak squirts of watery jizz painted his already sticky lower abdomen. Dean waited for it to be over, aftershocks and all. Instead, Sam whined as his body started the cycle again. "Sam, answer me – did Ruby poison you? And... are you... buzzing?!" The noise still didn't wane; in fact, it seemed to intensify when he touched Sam. 

* * *

While his dick continued pumping out fluids, all Sam knew was that he couldn't last much longer. His body didn't have anything left to give. He didn't even make a conscious decision to entrust Dean with his secret, there simply wasn't an alternative. 

Dean was his brother; Dean loved him, and Dean would find a way to end this. _Then,_ they'd talk, and coming clean was what he should have done in the first place. When Dean suggested that Ruby may have poisoned him, it all fell into place. Why hadn't he recognized before that Ruby had some kind of power over him? And maybe, just maybe, for once, this wasn't really Sam's fault at all?

Another agonizing surge blasted from his balls, and Sam cried out in pain. "Dean," he whimpered, "she... vi-vibrator... Please, switch it off! _Please!"_ The latter came out as a terrified shriek.

* * *

Dean felt helpless. He didn't know how to help his brother, a rare thing in his life. Whatever was making Sam come again and again against his will, the non-consensual nature of it slapped at Dean's brain. Sam was not to blame – of course he would have done whatever Ruby demanded to get answers – answers in relation to Dean's return to Earth. In return, she'd cursed him, hexed him, something. Dean should never have let him go alone. About to toss the room in search of a hex bag, he was stopped by Sam squeaking out a few key words which allowed Dean to piece it together. 

No, nothing supernatural at all was causing this. 

He and Sam hadn't experimented much with toys: their two bodies had always been enough. Dean, however, had been with quite a few women who'd owned them, used them, and weren't shy about asking for his 'help'. If Sam asked him to switch it off, it wasn't remote-controlled or he could've done it himself. Dean was going to have to do it manually. And currently the vibrator, which he'd never seen to know where the switch or button was even located on it, resided deep in Sam's ass. 

"I will, Sam, I'll figure it out. I... I need you to get on your knees for me. Right now." He had to do it fast. Who knew how much more Sam could take before he lost his mind? Besides rage, Dean nearly lost himself in a tide of sorrow. No, Sam wasn't a virgin or a young kid, but he'd been subjected to sexual torture here. And now, Dean was going to have to do more in service of fixing this. 

Sam's limbs didn't cooperate much – everything was still jerking and twitching. He helped Sam turn, and get into position, long legs spread but barely holding him up. His hole was puffy and raw-looking, in part thanks to Dean, wet and shiny with lube. At least the bitch had allowed that much. And yes, the humming was louder yet. Slicking his fingers in what leaked from Sam, Dean swallowed hard as he slid in his index finger. Within an inch, just beyond the tight band of ring muscle, he came into contact with hard plastic. The vibration buzzed all the way up into his arm. "Geez! How long has this thing been in you?" Not expecting an answer, Dean felt around the base of it: he could make out a squarish little nub he assumed was the speed control, or whatever it was called. He pushed at it but it wouldn't move. 

Or rather, the button wouldn't move. Dean only succeeded in pushing the whole thing deeper into Sam, who let out a pained grunt. "Sorry!" Dean hissed. Trying to catch the mechanism with the edge of his nail didn't work either – instead, it spun the fake phallus. "It's not... I can't..." But he had to! Dean worked in his middle finger and the index finger of his other hand and somehow got enough slippery leverage to flick the switch down through about five clicks till the buzzing stopped. The silence was huge, filled by Sam's panting breaths. 

"Do you want to try to, um, push it out?" If Dean had to take Sam to a hospital for this, they might as well give up hunting for good and become circus clowns. No, Sam hated clowns. Maybe some mind-numbing, minimum-wage fast food or customer service jobs. Or just be lab rats. Dean could hit the pleasure button whenever he wanted and Sam probably never would again. 

* * *

"Oh god," Sam wheezed when the vibrating stopped. Tears were streaming down his face and the one thing he knew for sure was that he'd never, _never_ have sex again.

His body felt as if it was made of rubber and he found that he barely had the strength to turn his head and face his brother. "Dean, thank god," he panted. "As soon as I can move again, I'mma kill that bitch."

* * *

"Not if I kill her first," Dean growled. "Or we'll do it together." The last was an afterthought. Surely Sam would want revenge, too. 

If Dean ever ran into that hellbitch again, it wouldn't matter if she were dragging ten bound angels named Castiel behind her and the answer to Dean's rejoinder to life, her meat was dead. His little brother, still recovering from a concussion, a cracked rib, and extensive bruising, had been assaulted in ways that would make your average Joe need years of therapy. It was a miracle he wasn't curled up crying in the corner. Yes, Sam was tough, he'd proved it so many times in the last few days, but not right now – he was a mess. The spastic reactions to the vibrations had stopped, yet Sam was still shaking, pasty and sweaty. 

Dean didn't even know what to say. He continued to stroke Sam's arm and chest, maybe for mutual comfort. From their first experimentations, Sam's pleasure had been strongly connected to his hole. Even now it seemed odd to Dean, that anyone would be so oriented, that stimulation _there_ did more for Sam than anything to do with his junk, which was plenty sensitive, too. It worked to Dean's benefit, of course, since his preferences ran the opposite. Oh, he'd taken ass-play from Sam – fingers, tongue, and he knew that the still-foggy reaches of his memory would divulge more, if he dug. 

But those instances were rare, because for Sam, sex in its most fulfilling form included first and foremost, love; and secondly, getting his ass loved. 

Ruby had ruined that. She would pay with her stolen life.

* * *

Slowly, Sam's breathing steadied, but he was still feeling drained. His whole lower body was sore and his bladder was aching, as if it was overextended, but he knew it was a side-effect from the overstimulation of his prostate. 

"I'll try to push it out," he told his brother who was watching him like a hawk with worry etched in his face. "Just not yet. Don't wanna move," Sam shuddered involuntarily, and although it didn't vibrate any longer, the device in his body grazed his prostate. He froze and ground his teeth, then forced himself to relax again, terrified that the vibrator inside him would shift again.

Wiping at the tears on his face, Sam noticed how much he stank. Dean had been right, the stench of Ruby was overwhelming, but Sam's sweat and semen smelled even stronger. He wanted to be clean, but that, too, would have to wait until he could at least stand on his own feet.

With the adrenalin slowly fading, Sam's tears of exhaustion were replaced by tears of shame as he met Dean's eyes. "She... I had sex with her. Also the other day. I don't know why I did it. Dean..." 

The soothing hand on his arm and chest felt so good. "I know you hate me now, and I cannot blame you for it. I'm so sorry, Dean."

* * *

Though he'd guessed as much, and why, it still hurt like a mule-kick to the jewels when Sam confirmed Dean's suspicions out loud. He let out his breath slowly to prevent himself from barking questions and accusations. "'D never hate you. You say you don't know why but, Sam...what were you thinking? Did she know anything at all to make it worth the... what she... it?" He had to hear it. The subject might never come up again – for good reason – and Dean needed to hear the full truth from Sam's lips. Everything.

* * *

"Thinking?" Sam felt hysteria bubbling up in his lungs as he tried to keep breathing – and keep his lower body still. "I was thinking, _'No!'_ I was thinking, _'This is wrong!'_ I was thinking... of you." He shivered. "You'd returned and... didn't recognize me. She promised she'd make you come back to me... I knew it was wrong. I didn't want to. Or maybe I did, but I... I'm not sure it was me. She was warm and sympathetic, comforting, and I was a mess. I dunno how it happened, but it did. And I swore, never again. And then, today..."

Sam shivered again, harder. "Today, I was happy. Loved. By you. Dean, I have no idea how she got me to do this. Again. But that isn't even all. She made... gave me..." Suddenly, there was only one thing on Sam's mind, to expel the demon bitch's blood from his body. 

_"Salt,"_ Sam clutched at Dean's arm. "I need salt!"

* * *

"It's not your fault, Sam, calm down... I-I-I came back and no, I didn't remember what we were – are – to each other. You'd do anything to have that back. I get that now." Dean spoke quickly, trying to mitigate Sam's outpouring of misery. His brother's regret and self-loathing matched his own, for driving Sam either directly into Ruby's arms, or causing him to be more susceptible to her influence, and her dead-girl charms. Just the thought of that made him shudder, his mind crying, 'Ew, ew, ew!' 

"She'd know that and how it... Made you feel. Some of them can read minds or emotions. And... use it." Ruby had used Sam, too. His body. Dean clenched his fists. About to go on, he was cut off by Sam grabbing him and demanding salt.

"I don't have any – our supply's in Baby's trunk. She's still in the shop; I borrowed a truck to get here. What are you going to do, bathe in it? Sit in a circle of it? I don't understand." Even if he'd have had fifty pounds of it at the ready, Dean was shaking his head. 

* * *

Dean said that they didn't have salt because their supplies were with the Impala, but they always carried some on them, a small amount in pure form as well as in salt bullets. Sam was aware that swallowing a larger quantity would kill him by making his kidneys fail, but it was the only solution he could think of to neutralize the demon blood in him.

"Your gun," Sam said urgently. "I need your gun, Dean."

* * *

Sam's desperation alarmed Dean. His brain flashed urgent messages that his brother would harm himself. Not wanting to hand over his .45 till he was sure of Sam's intent, he stalled. "You have your own... Where's your Taurus?" Some demons carried guns, so he supposed Ruby might have stolen it, but she'd never carried one in her previous, blond, form. 

* * *

"Mine has silver bullets, yours had salt rounds the last time we talked," Sam elaborated. He was getting more and more anxious to purge the demon blood from his body. He knew it was likely to be only in his imagination, but the stuff made his skin crawl.

"Please, Dean, I'll explain. Just give me one of your bullets."

* * *

"You better explain now," Dean retorted, but he reached behind himself and pulled the pearl-handled Colt out of the back of his waistband. A salt bullet would tear up skin and muscle at close range, but wasn't lethal. Salt, though an everyday kitchen ingredient, stood as purity against any manner of evil, from ghosts to spirits to creatures, though as they'd found out, goofer dust worked better against Hellhounds. Dean didn't doubt Sam felt _impure_ right now. After another hesitation, he held the gun out. 

* * *

"Yeah, yeah, just gimme a sec," Sam muttered while taking a bullet from the chamber with shaking hands. He winced when he bit on it, but succeeded in getting the round to spill its precious contents. 

"This better work," he announced as he shook the salt on his palm and licked up some of it, shuddering with disgust. He didn't know how much salt was actually lethal for a human body. It wouldn't be good to neutralize the demon blood only to die from kidney failure. 

Swallowing was torture as the salt seemed to suck all the moisture from his mouth. Sam felt sick to his stomach, but that feeling had been there since he'd come to understand what he'd done.

"Dean," he finally croaked when he couldn't bring himself to eat more salt. "Sorry, but I had to..." Suddenly, the shame returned, now that the immediate danger was dealt with. "We need to look up cleansing rituals," he shuddered. "Ruby... she made me drink her blood..."

A few minutes ago, Dean had pointed out that he could never hate Sam, but that was before he knew what Sam had done. Sam hugged himself, bowed his head, and waited for the blow.

* * *

Dean couldn't do anything but stare. If he'd expected Sam to shoot himself in some less-than-vital area, he'd been seriously mistaken. Instead, Sam kicked out the clip, extracted a salt bullet, and bit into the tip till he was able to break the seal and pour the small measure of white crystals onto his palm. "Sam, stop," Dean warned after he'd licked up some, too upset to appreciate his brother's long pink tongue. 

For his part, Sam looked stricken, ready to gag. Watching him closely for any worse effects like sizzling or steaming black smoke or god knew what, Dean took his gun back. "We gotta get out of this town. What materials we have are in Baby and the cops or whoever will catch up eventually. Get dressed. Or... Try to get that thing out first. You can read in the car. It should be ready soon. If we can make it to either Omaha or Denver, we can find some hoodoo place and get you fixed up for real." 

* * *

"We gotta go, sure, but... do we have a car?" Sam asked. "Don't tell me you're leaving Baby behind!" The murderous look on Dean's face told him that wasn't an option.

"I'll... try... to get that thing out." Sam paled. Over the need to purify himself from the demon blood, he'd all but forgotten about Ruby's toy. "Um, I'd rather... do that alone, do you mind...? Maybe... could you wait outside or grab a coffee...? And... do we have any holy water here? For me to drink, I mean?"

* * *

"Dave from the repair shop lent me his truck," Dean reminded Sam. No way were they leaving without Baby. He'd take his chances squatting in this tiny town before he ditched her. His pique came out in his next comment. Dean could admit it came out bitchy. "Didn't think you were planning a holy water enema. Yeah, I'll wait outside. In fact, there's a cafe – different one than this morning – a few blocks south of here. I'll get coffee." 

He barely remembered stashing the flask in an inside pocket of his jacket, but it was there when Dean reached for it out of habit, and he laid it on the bed within Sam's reach before backing away. "Uh, good luck." 

'Lame, Dean,' he chided himself. He and his brother had played doctor – not the fun kind, from a young age: cleaning wounds, applying bandages, stitching gashes, setting breaks and dislocations, digging out bullets. All of that paled compared to what Sam was going to have to do next – if he could. If it became necessary, if Sam's life was at stake, Dean knew he'd help however he could. What he wanted to avoid was being a party to the continuing violation. Of the two of them, Sam was the more guarded, private one, other than around Dean alone, and Dean wished to spare him further embarrassment, if at all possible. 

That softened his tone, a lot. "Call me when you're, uh, when it's over. Or if you need me." Rather than be graphic, Dean left the rest of what was about to happen unsaid. Perhaps an 'I love you' had been in order. Sam seemed to need to hear it a lot more than Dean did, but the notion of saying it at this moment was absurd. "See you soon."

* * *

"The water isn't for..." Sam growled. "I'll drink it. Salt, remember? With a chaser of holy water." He couldn't blame Dean for the misunderstanding, though. His brother must be just about as grossed out about what Sam was going to do – _attempting_ to do. "Yeah, I'll call," he promised.

As soon as Dean had left the room, Sam got up and winced. He wasn't going to enjoy this, but the alternative was much worse: if he couldn't squeeze the thing out, a visit to an ER was the only option. Presenting there with a vibrator up his ass was the exact opposite of the low profile they were supposed to keep, especially right now after the stunt with the vampires, grand theft auto, er, tow truck, and all that. Sam padded to the bathroom and prepared for one of the nastiest things he could imagine ever doing in his life.

Ten minutes later, he couldn't believe his luck. He was cramping and his ass was bleeding a little, but he'd succeeded in expelling the thing. He wrapped it up in the liner from the trash bin, wondering whether he should burn the thing immediately or keep it and use it on Ruby; the bitch was sure to turn up again eventually.

Yearning for Charlie's ointment, Sam washed, then he got dressed and packed their remaining stuff. For a minute, he considered walking the few blocks to the cafe Dean had indicated, but had to admit to himself that he was too sore. Oh, Sam had been sore from sex before, but it had always been a good kind of soreness given to him by Dean with the utmost pleasure he could think of. Now... he couldn't even think of Dean touching his asshole, but this wasn't the time to dwell on it. The sudden suggestion by his brain that Dean had been violated far worse when Dad had sent him out hustling didn't help at all.

Grinding his teeth, Sam tamped down those thoughts and dialed Dean's number.

"Uh, it's me, and it's out. Can you come pick me up? I really don't feel like walking if you get my meaning." 

* * *

Sam didn't sound very impressed by Dean's sarcasm, so he beat it out of there after leaving Sam to his task. The minute he backed the truck out of the parking spot in front of the motel room door, Dean began to worry again that the worst would happen and the thing wouldn't budge. Going to the ER was bad; being blocked by an inanimate object was worse. 

He drove distractedly to the cafe and sat at the counter. When the waitress stepped up, Dean ordered black coffee for himself and one of those highly sweet but non-fat girlie mocha things for Sam... to go. Then he had nothing to do but drum his fingers on the counter top and jiggle his knee. The clientele was mostly older men playing cards and jawing. Ten years ago, the place would've been blue with cigarette smoke. 

It couldn't have taken more than three or four minutes for his order but the wait dragged on interminably. Dean tossed down a ten dollar bill and beat feet back to the truck. Even if it took Sam a while, he'd rather sit in front of the motel than be tooling around town in borrowed wheels – that was just asking for trouble. As Dean pulled up into the parking lot, making sure one hand was on the coffee beside him on the seat as there were no cup holders, his phone rang. He answered it on the fourth ring, coming to a stop. "Yeah, Sam?" Though it was sure to make his brother beyond surly if the answer was no, Dean couldn't resist inquiring, "Everything come out alright?" 

* * *

"What part of 'it's out' didn't you understand?" Sam snapped. He immediately felt guilty for it. "Sorry, man, it's been a rough ten minutes. Anyway, it's out and I need to get my hands on some of Charlie's ointment, badly."

Just then, he heard the rumbling of a truck. "Dean, is that you?" Sam moved the curtain aside and recognized his brother. "Please tell me there's some of the ointment left," he groaned. "I think I need that even more than a coffee right now."

* * *

Wow, grumpy. Dean pulled the phone away from his ear for a second when Sam barked at him. 'Charlie's ointment' ended the less-testy continuation; he understood the urgency. Movement at the window signaled life. Sam looked out between the curtains and Dean gave him a little half-wave. Years of familiarity with his little brother's body language told him that Sam recognized him. The slight change in posture and the tilt of his head shifted his whole mien from wary to accepting.

"There is, but it's in my bag, which is in the Impala," Dean informed him. "I'm sorry for that. There is coffee, though. The sooner we leave here, the sooner we get back to the garage." He paused, not knowing how bad of shape Sam was in. "Can you walk?" Just because his brother was upright didn't mean he'd be able to ambulate. 

* * *

"Define walk," Sam groaned. "I can make it to the car, and that's about as far as I can predict things." True to his words, he followed his brother to the truck. Standing before the passenger door, he noticed the next problem. "Okay, that was walking. Sitting down, now, that's an entirely different story."

He thought for a moment. "I can't hide from the mechanic when we pick up Baby, I guess, and I'm not keen on waiting somewhere – on my butt or on my feet doesn't seem to make that much of a difference, I think. And I'm so not returning to the room." Sam shuddered at the memory of Ruby.

"Let's tell the guy at the workshop that I threw out my back. I guess you left there in a hurry?" He looked at Dean who nodded. "That's the reason why you had to borrow his vehicle, then. And why I'm curled up on the seat."

Sam smiled weakly. "The only real problem now is how am I going to drink my coffee lying down?" He reached for the cup Dean offered and his smile widened. "Thanks, man. No ointment still sucks, but at least there's my favorite concoction. Love you, bro."

* * *

Dean was willing to go along with Sam's story; it saved him having to make up something on the fly. He opened Sam's door, prepared to do whatever, but Sam managed to crawl in and kind of perch on the side of one buttcheek. "Here, lie down on the seat, it's wide enough. You'll have to wait for the coffee. And, I love you, too," he added in a low voice, pitched for Sam's ears only just in case. 

They got situated for the short drive back to the shop, which was again less than ten minutes. Dean pulled up as close to the entrance as he could without blocking it. "We're here," he announced. "Need any help, standing up again?" 

* * *

Sam gulped down half of the coffee – a brew just as sweet as he liked it and which Dean never stopped winding him up about – and then painfully maneuvered himself into a halfway bearable position on the car seat. He didn't enjoy the short drive, but his mood still improved a lot when Dean whispered his love to him. At least his brother didn't hate him for what had happened.

It was embarrassing, but Dean's help made getting out of the car much easier although it was no fun at all. Just when he finally stood on his own feet, the garage door opened and Dave came out, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Oh, wow," the mechanic said to Dean, "it looks as if you really needed my truck." he turned to Sam. "I'm Dave, and you must be the brother Dean went to pick up. Are you okay?"

"I'm Sam and I'll be fine, just made a bad move," Sam introduced himself, astonished that Dave didn't recognize him, but he was in too much misery to act on his surprise.

Dave smiled at him, then spoke again, apparently content that Sam didn't elaborate. "I have good news for you. I fixed the suspension system, and it shouldn't give you any trouble unless you plan to drive her off-road."

He looked a little sheepish when he continued. "I haven't prepared an invoice," he said. "In any event, I promised I'd only charge you for the parts, and then I was thinking, I'd give you the parts for free if you let me drive her up and down the main road once – or ride shotgun while you drive, even." Dave blushed.

"But with your brother in pain, I guess you should just take her and go. I'm not charging you anything. Just promise that you'll look after her – no, actually, you needn't promise me that, I know you will. Take care, man," he nodded at Dean, then looked at Sam again, "and you, too."

* * *

Dean raised his eyebrows when Dave offered to waive all costs for one drive, even a ride, in Baby. Yeah, Baby was awesome but surely someone had some sort of nice ride out here, or Dave had lived elsewhere at some point or gone to a larger city for training. Once again, he thought of Ash, who'd been to MIT in the Boston area. Or, Dean supposed, Dave could be self-taught, like Dean himself. He could understand the sentiment, but he and Sam couldn't spare any more time.

"I would, man, but me and Sam, we gotta hit the road. We'd have been long gone if Baby here hadn't developed a bad limp. Tell you what, if we ever come through here again, I'll look you up. And, here, I'm going to at least pay you for the parts." There had been a lot of times he and Sam had been down to nothing, just most recently before they'd opened the box in the trunk. But Dean didn't want to owe anyone, and he still wasn't sure about how Dave had been acting before his unexplained loss of consciousness. It had been like two different people. Taking out his wallet, he thumbed through his cash and then handed over $100.00. "Hope that covers it, at least wholesale. And you have my thanks."

With a nod, he looked at Sam for a second to make sure he was okay to follow and led the way to the Impala. The keys were in it. First, he helped Sam into the back seat. Not for the first time, he repressed a wince at how stiffly Sam moved, how careful he was about how he sat. Quickly, Dean found 'the ointment' in a side pocket of his bag and tossed it into the footwell. They'd never, not even as kids, had their own pillows, and not for the first time, he felt the lack. Squashing down one of their clothes duffels, he slid it under Sam's head. His brother pulled his long legs up, and Dean circled around Baby's back end to slam the door. Meanwhile, Dave raised the overhead door, and Dean got in and backed out of the place. Finally, outside, the rumble of the powerful engine all around him, he breathed a little more easily.

* * *

Sam stood hunched over while Dean dealt with Dave. If there was something strange about the guy; they'd talk about it later. Right now, the only thing on Sam's mind was pain relief.

It wasn't a second too early for him when Dean helped him settle in the back seat. As soon as his brother started the car, Sam focused on the ointment that Dean tossed into the footwell. Every move hurt, but he snagged the tube on the first attempt. His and Dean's eyes met in the rearview mirror, and exchanged a silent message that Sam would be okay. Ass-wise, that was, but as annoyed as Dean might be, he'd grant Sam time to recover.

Sam's moans came out somewhere between pained and relieved when he struggled to push his pants down and finally – _finally!_ – managed to get some of the numbing cream on his sore tissues. It was far from the first time he was sore; sometimes he'd begged Dean to ream him so hard that he couldn't sit for two days after a really good round with his brother, but this... was... different. Not only did his butt hurt, but he had cramps that he was sure were not physical. The bitch Ruby had... Oh, he'd asked for it, but had it really been him, Sam, who'd asked? He felt violated, and the more the sting in his ass waned, the more it hit him that _this_ wasn't his fault, at least not all of it.

His face brightened when he remembered that Dean had declared his love for him, just a few minutes ago, _after_ Sam's confession. Suddenly, Ruby didn't count any longer. Dean loved him and the pain faded into the background. Baby was purring, a comforting sound that had never failed to lull him to sleep when he was little.

Sam smiled. For the moment, he felt safe and loved. Everything else could wait.

* * *


End file.
